


First Class (Hons) Christmas, University of Tadfield.

by heloluv



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Professors, Aziraphale Loves Christmas, Aziraphale teaches Literature, Charitable Aziraphale, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Party, Crowley is a Scrooge, Crowley teaches Plant Ecology, Falling In Love, Festive Botanical Gardens, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mutual Pining, New Year's Eve, New Years, Romance, University, christmas markets, self indulgent christmas fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:48:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 41,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27827770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heloluv/pseuds/heloluv
Summary: Dr. A.Z. Fell is a renowned literature tutor at the prestigious University of Tadfield. December is upon the University, and Dr. Fell is leading the Christmas Charity Drive. He needs volunteers.Dr. A.J. Crowley is a skilled plant ecologist who recently began his tenure at UoT. He can't stand Christmas, and nothing at all could ever possibly convince him to partake in "festivities". Until a certain literary expert catches his eye.A Christmas and New Years fic, in which Aziraphale teaches Crowley how to enjoy the most wonderful time of the year.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 132
Kudos: 159





	1. December 1st

**Author's Note:**

> Kindly and skillfully beta-d by @sapphicarnation (twitter). She saved me from drowning in countless unnecessary ellipses, and for this I shall be forever in her debt.
> 
> Let the festivities commence!

The University of Tadfield campus looked beautiful in the snow.

It was situated at the highest point of a quaint coastal English village, overlooking the houses and amenities that sat quietly in the foothills. The village, whilst being at first look rather unassuming, was in reality quite a miraculous place. The people were happy. The local businesses thrived. The weather was always perfectly appropriate for the season: fresh springs, hot summers, crisp autumns. At this time of year, the town always welcomed in a gorgeous, white, festive winter.

The University itself was all picturesque stone buildings that seemed to be handpicked from a book of fairy tales. A breath-taking library with winding wooden staircases, packed to the rafters with precious leather-bound tomes; cloisters that framed a beautiful grassy square, complete with central fountain; quiet pathways between departmental buildings that were arched by tall trees and verdant hedges. From the tallest towers of the oldest buildings on campus, the view out to sea was remarkable. Despite being tucked away in a quiet pocket of rural paradise, the University of Tadfield was one of those places that managed to thrum with excitement, curiosity and imagination. Amongst those lucky few who knew about it, the place was renowned for its astute, promising students and passionate, subject leading staff. It was, to sum it up, a wonderful place to be.

Especially at Christmas time.

* * *

Dr. A.Z. Fell was one of the most impressive and widely read literature tutors who a student of the subject could hope to learn from. He had been at Tadfield as a tenured member of faculty for five years, and was well loved amongst staff and students alike. He was a distinguished fellow, and could always be recognised by his cream coloured coat and tartan bow tie. Dr. Fell was a man known for his impassioned lectures and innovative research. His tongue was sharp: his readings of both poetry and prose could entrance even the least literary of listeners. Fell was a man who carried with him an aura of intrigue, a love for his job and his students, and stacks upon stacks of knowledge. He was also, as was widely agreed by all who met him, a rather handsome man. His old fashioned, neatly tailored sense of style only seemed to help him stand out, and never in a bad way. Oh yes; he had built himself a reputation in his few years at the University. It was widely accepted by now that on the Tadfield campus, there was no shortage of admirers for Dr. Fell’s platinum curls, sparkling hazel eyes and dream inducing smile.

The date was the first of December. Dr. Fell walked with keen stride across the University’s main courtyard, brown leather boots leaving footprints in the dusting of snow that lay on the ground. His button nose shone with the cold, the tips of his ears and the tops of his cheeks were tinted rose pink and his breath sent a warm cloud out into the air. He smiled, almost ear to ear, as he heard the University choir singing their Christmas set for the first time of the year. Oh, how he was ready for the festive season to begin. Despite the cold, he stopped and listened to their rendition of  _ Joy to the World _ , bobbing his head and swaying gently as means of encouragement for the choristers that had come out so early in the December chill. The choir were always a key part of raising money for the Christmas Charity drive; as their song ended, he gave them a round of applause, tugging his gloves off to do so.

‘Absolutely wonderful!’ 

He chirped, slipping his wallet from his pocket and putting the first donation of the season into their collection bucket. Being early onto campus every day, he had managed to be the first donor every year for the last three (just by chance, of course. Though he was secretly becoming quite proud of his streak). 

‘I do hope you’re reprising  _ The First Noel _ this year. You do such a wonderful rendition!’

The lead chorister, a blue eyed second year with a head of brown curls, smiled widely. 

‘Thanks Dr. F! We wouldn’t want to give away our whole set list, but it might be on there!’ 

The boy’s eyes sparkled in the morning sunlight, and Dr. Fell slipped his gloves back on, raising an amused eyebrow. 

‘I suppose I’ll just have to stop by every morning and find out for myself then, shan’t I? Cheerio! Do keep on with the show, it is quite excellent!’ 

The students were, as always, cheered by his chipper morning demeanour - and when their voices rang out a little stronger as he walked away, he couldn’t help but smile once more.

* * *

Dr. A.J. Crowley was one of the University’s newest permanent faculty members. An influential researcher in the field of ecology, he was a respected but, as of yet, a relatively unknown entity amongst both students and his colleagues. His mind was fine tuned to understanding the inner workings of the natural world, and he was good at sharing that knowledge. And yet, despite the tenderness with which he could speak about plants and landscapes, he had a harsh approach to his students. In his first months at Tadfield, he had successfully cultivated not only the University’s greenhouses, but a reputation for the tough marking of coursework and an unforgiving response to the misuse of planting equipment (whether accidental or not). However, one key piece of information about Dr. Crowley had spread around the University like wildfire, and this was the thing that had now come to precede him: he, with his auburn locks, honeycomb eyes and stylish black clothes, was an incredibly attractive man. 

It was his first Christmas at the University, and as he walked up towards the main courtyard and heard the first notes of  _ God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen _ , he decided that today he was feeling particularly surly. Tugging his collar up further around his neck, he swiftly headed round onto the back campus route that would lead him to the department of life sciences. It would add a few minutes to his journey time, but he much preferred that to hearing a bunch of fresh-faced undergraduates squawking about tidings of comfort and joy. As he crunched his way along the frost covered path, the cool winter sunshine glinting off his dark glasses, he tugged his coat around himself just a little bit tighter.

* * *

Aziraphale went through his usual morning ritual, which consisted of hanging his coat and scarf, propping open his door to welcome curious students and settling in his desk chair with a contented sigh. He was putting on his nifty reading glasses when Tracy swanned in holding his memos and mail.

‘Good morning cherub, and how are we today?’

Aziraphale allowed the department’s finest administrator to round his desk and pop a sneaky kiss on his cheek as she dropped his papers into his tray. He replied in his usual cheerful tone, tinged with an undertone of festive excitement. 

‘December the first, my dear. It’s a special day!’ 

Tracy took a small stack of papers from the very top of his letter pile and placed them front and centre on his desk.

‘These are all of your Charity Drive related memos. I’ve set them aside so you can have a read! They need you to start recruiting volunteers from other departments straight away.’

Aziraphale, who had been shuffling through some uninteresting papers sent by management, started at this. 

‘Me? Surely not, they usually have someone else recruit! The volunteers are normally all sorted by this point!’

‘They told me to tell you that they can’t outsource that part of the process any more.’

Aziraphale slumped, gazing at the stack of Wilde essays he needed to mark. 

‘I have three lectures, two tutorials and a dissertation supervision today, and I need to get the second year Victorian Literature coursework sorted! Why are they springing this on me now?!’ 

His hands came together, and as they began to worry Tracy reached down and placed her palm on his balled up fists.

‘I know, love. Relax, you know Gabriel’s only done this to try and make it hard for you! You’re Aziraphale Fell, it won’t take you two minutes to gather a few keen students who want to help with the drive. You can ask them to spread the word, I guarantee you’ll have a full volunteer team by the end of the day!’

Aziraphale relaxed slightly, the tension dropping out of his shoulders. Tracy was, in all likelihood, right. Aziraphale had founded the festive fundraiser in his first year at Tadfield; it had raised a great deal for charitable causes in the local community and beyond, and as a result had quickly become a much loved tradition at the University. Last year, the finance department had come under new management; whilst they hadn’t been able to brutalise much departmental funding overall, they had certainly tried to switch things up where possible. Their big boss, Gabriel, had been quite insistent that the previous year’s Christmas Charity Drive would be the last, as there was no longer the budget for it. He really had seemed put out when staff and students had sided with Aziraphale, who had fought tooth and nail to keep it going. He huffed.

‘That man. You’d think he absolutely bloody hated Christmas with the way he’s so determined to kill this project!’ 

Aziraphale unfurled the first memo, and was presented with a list of times at which he was supposed to drop in on various lectures run by other departments to try and recruit their students. His lips tightened at the audacity of it; he was one of the busiest staff members in the whole University, constantly tutoring his charges and giving classes, yet the bloody finance department had scheduled an appearance for him in some random class every half hour of the day. Tracy, noting his swiftly building rage, gently took the memo from his hands. She of all people knew how much trouble Dr. Fell might end up in if he were to release his full wrath; he could publicly decimate Gabriel’s reputation with ease, but it would most certainly come back to bite him - no matter how righteous his anger.

‘Chin up, love. Why don’t you just get it over with? Go to the first one on the list, ask for some helpers and get them to recruit!’

Aziraphale dragged a hand down his face, sighing in defeat. This project had once been his baby; now, it was beginning to bring him a considerable amount of stress.

‘Yes,’ he stuttered. ‘Yes, that will- right.’ 

Resigned to his fate, he perused the list again. He was busy for the first hour’s worth of scheduled visits at least. He finally settled on the first one that he could make it to between delivering his nine o’clock lecture on  _ Dickens _ and his half ten tutorial on  _ Fantasy Fiction _ .

‘Ten o’clock, drop in at the start of the  _ Plant Ecology and Evolution _ lecture, Life Sciences building, lecturer A.J. Crowley.’ 

He noted down the details, then binned the offending sheet of paper. 

‘That will have to do.’

* * *

‘What are you talking about!?’

Anathema rolled her eyes. It was only half nine, but she had already had quite enough of Crowley being prickly.

‘He’ll only be dropping in for a minute or so. Usually they recruit for the project outside of class time, but clearly something has changed if Fell is coming in to ask people himself.’

Crowley almost growled in frustration, rounding his desk and slamming down the memos that the graduate student had just handed to him.

‘The last thing I want is some arty farty book doctor coming into my lecture and talking about Christmas. Send him to someone else’s class!’

Anathema rolled her eyes. ‘Messing staff members around is absolutely not within my remit. Besides, Dr. Fell is great! I’m not going to lie to him just because you want to have a tantrum!’

Crowley glared at her, before huffing in defeat. 

‘Dr. A.Z. Fell. What in the bloody hell kind of name is that anyway?!’

* * *

As he rushed down the hill to the life sciences building, Aziraphale tugged at his collar. Though he’d never give Gabriel the satisfaction of admitting it, this was utterly demoralising; having to run between lecture theatres was the job of a first year student, not a respected member of staff. He swept into the foyer, cheeks pinked from the cold - and perhaps also from the slight jog he’d just taken in order to be on time. He’d never met an A.J. Crowley, but all the same he had respect for his fellow academics and he’d like to take up as little of the man’s lesson time as possible. Walking up to the desk of the shiny new build science block, he looked totally out of place and utterly wonderful. 

‘Excuse me,’ he spoke softly, still working on catching his breath. ‘You couldn’t possibly point me towards lecture theatre three, could you?’

The brown haired boy sat behind the desk gave him his directions, and Aziraphale thanked him as he headed off.

* * *

Crowley looked at the clock as his students filed into the room. No sign of one Dr. Fell, but then he’d never met a punctual humanities expert in his life. As he shuffled through his lecture notes, he overheard a conversation between two girls in the front row.

‘Dr. Fell? As in blond Dr. Fell?’

‘Yes. The English tutor. The one who does the readings at grad ceremonies!’

‘He’s coming here? To  _ PLANT  _ class?!’

‘To talk about the Christmas drive! Anathema told me so…’

Crowley, who would normally baulk at his area of expertise being referred to only as ‘plant class’, was rather distracted by the outright blushing he could see manifesting in some of his students as they spoke of this ‘Dr. Fell’. This arty, poetry reading, apparently blond, now LATE, Dr. Fell-

The door swung open, and Crowley heard a pair of feet pacing across the theatre floor towards him. The students fell silent, and watched the University’s beautiful, subject leading arts lecturer stride towards their gorgeous, terrifying plant ecology lecturer. 

‘So sorry I’m late. Dickens ran over! A.Z. Fell, I’m just here to give the students a little heads up about the Festive Charity project.’

There was a tentative pause in the man’s rambling, and Crowley soaked it up. 

‘Oh, I do hope they told you, I did ask them to confirm with you!’

Crowley prepared himself to snark. He checked the time on his watch, confirming that this incredibly posh man had been cheeky enough to turn up a total of one minute and nineteen seconds late. 

Then, he turned around to face Fell. Suddenly, he found that he was feeling very charitable indeed.


	2. An Unexpected Offer

‘Could I perhaps get a show of interest from anyone who wants to be involv-’

Before Fell could even finish his sentence, the hands of at least a dozen students went up. Most of the hands raised, Crowley noted from where he was watching at the side of the lecture theatre, were accompanied by a dreamy gaze headed in Fell’s direction. Usually, he’d grumble to himself about how his own students were more eager to volunteer for a Christmas fundraising project than they were to take up his offers of extra credit for helping in the greenhouses. Usually he’d interrupt - the blond had spent at least three minutes more than promised explaining his daft project. He’d laugh, and rile the intruder up by making some underhanded comment about how the idea was pleasant, but only arts students would have the time: science students have real, important work to do. But holy hell. This cheerful, big-word-using, bow-tie-wearing man was absolutely gorgeous. 

Crowley had stared silently at ‘Dr. Fell’ for a good ten seconds after first turning to look at him. The snappy comment he’d been ready to make had died in his throat and he’d just about held back a sound that, had it come out of his mouth, would’ve been something along the lines of ‘ngk’. He had been in no way prepared for meeting Aziraphale. Charisma was beating off the man in tangible waves: his keen eyes had been sparkling as he'd held out his hand for Crowley to shake. His hair was a shock of cotton white, his smile bright enough to inspire kindness in the cruellest of people. Although Crowley had garnered himself a reputation for being edgy, grumpy and extremely testy, he was not (in reality) a cruel man. Not even close. So when the blond bookworm smiled at him as if he’d just handed him a first edition Wilde, Crowley reached out and shook his hand. Though he’d never admit it to a soul, he may have ever so slightly - almost imperceptibly - smiled back. He may not have been able to help it.

Anathema stood by Crowley’s side, looking on knowingly as students clamored to volunteer for Fell’s project. Crowley was decidedly not thinking about his fellow lecturer’s eloquent, expressive public speaking voice. There was no good reason for him to be thinking about that. He was thinking about the things he usually thought about, like… plants. And wine. 

‘He’s going to need staff helpers, you know.’

Crowley started when she whispered into his ear. There was a pause as he thought over what she was implying. 

Oh no. Not a chance. No way was he, Anthony J. Crowley, going to volunteer for a Christmas fundraising campaign. Least of all one that was being headed up by a Literature tutor. He had been forced to sit through one too many boring _Hamlet_ lessons during his school years; Literature teachers had been his sworn enemies ever since, and he wasn’t planning on changing that for one extremely blond, highly intelligent, relatively breathtakin-

Before he could finish his internal rant, Anathema’s cheerful greeting brought him back to reality.

‘Dr. Fell!’

The far too influential man, having somehow gotten Crowley’s students back into their seats, was walking over to the two of them with a broad grin plastered on his face. Crowley cursed himself as he felt tiny prickles of heat spread across his cheekbones. The man was so… bright. There wasn’t really any other word for it. The sun rays beating in through the windows framed his silhouette. His trousers swished slightly as he walked, the break impeccably tailored in order to show off his custom brown Balmoral boots. His bespoke top-coat was perfectly cut to fit a pair of broad shoulders and taper in at the waist. Dust motes swirled around his head of cotton-cloud hair, almost like a halo. 

Crowley had never seen the colour beige look so good on someone.

‘Anathema!’ Fell greeted her, polite as ever.

Oh, Good Lord. His voice. His clean-cut, chipper, tuneful voice. It was no wonder the man could grab the attention of anyone he wanted; he sounded like he could tell you the greatest stories, or answer any question you asked him. Crowley listened to the two of them talking, riding the rise and fall of Fell’s mesmerising words. Until it was too late.

‘Dr. Crowley here was just saying how much he’d love to get involved!’

As Crowley turned to gape at Anathema, Fell turned to look at him. His surprise was painted on his face; his eyebrows lifted, and his eyes lit up.

‘Really?! Well, I must say, Dr. Crowley, that is rather unexpected. I don’t mean to be presumptuous, or indeed stereotypical, but it isn’t often that we get staff volunteers from STEM departments. Something about being too busy.’

The raised eyebrow and knowing tone that accompanied Fell’s final words both humbled and called out to Crowley. It was incredibly clear to him that Fell was in high demand; he very much doubted that those who refused to help the man were busier than him, scientists or not. More than this, however, the look of appraisal that Fell was giving him implied that there was more than a hint of bastard hidden beneath the calm, cheerful exterior. Crowley yearned to know it. Against his better judgement, despite his inherent opposition to academics of the literary genre, he immediately met Fell’s challenge.

‘Is that so? Well. I’d have to check, but I’m confident that I can find the time for it.’

The resulting smirk that broke across Fell’s face was something to behold. Crowley saw the glint in the other man’s eye, and knew he had passed some sort of test. Which test, he had no idea - but he was proud of himself nonetheless.

‘Well, that’s jolly good to hear. I’ll be in touch with the details as soon as I have them.’ 

Then, Dr. Fell gave a genuine smile that very nearly lit up the room. ‘Best be off; I’d not want to infringe upon any more of your class time!’

The intriguing man stepped forward and held out his hand.

‘Lovely to meet you, Dr. Crowley.’

Looking into hazel eyes, Crowley paused for just a moment too long and Fell’s lips quirked once more. He took his hand, and they shook.

‘The pleasure is all mine, Dr. Fell.’

* * *

Aziraphale stepped out into the crisp mid-morning air and drew in a deep, much-needed breath. He felt fourteen again, heart thumping like a battering ram against his ribs, cheeks burning. He didn’t bother tucking in his scarf or putting on his gloves as he set off back up the hill towards the humanities buildings. He hoped that the cold might serve as the natural answer to a cold shower.

Aziraphale, always a man of words, mumbled to himself.

‘Where on Earth did HE come from?’

He quickened his pace, hurrying back up to his office with the breeze ruffling through his hair.

* * *

The slow clacking of a keyboard resounded as Aziraphale typed into the search bar of his browser.

‘Dr. A.J. Crowley.’

Aziraphale avoided using the infernal contraption known to most as the ‘computer’ wherever possible. He preferred the ritual of handwritten essays and marking, of pen on paper, of his students submitting assignments via pigeonhole. He always found that they wrote more honest work that way - and he gave them more honest feedback. However, on occasion, the internet did come in handy. He was reasonably proficient in using it; he had to be if he wanted to keep his job. Since his trip to the life sciences department, he’d given a couple of classes and drafted an agenda for the first meeting of the Christmas drive committee. Aziraphale was a man who took his job incredibly seriously and was known for being phenomenally good at it. So it was really quite frustrating that he kept losing his train of thought to daydreams. Daydreams about eyes the colour of rich honeycomb, deep red hair artfully styled above a black collared shirt, and a handshake as warm as a Summer’s day.

Quite frustrating indeed.

Chalking it up to curiosity at having never seen the man before, he had decided to do some research. Yes: satiate his intrigued mind and then he would most certainly be more able to focus.

He pressed search and found Dr. Crowley’s staff profile on the University of Tadfield website. He tipped his reading glasses further up his nose, leaned forward, and began scrolling through.

Crowley, this sleek, surprising man who wore all black and sauntered like a rebellious rocker type, was evidently an incredibly intelligent person. An accomplished researcher, he was a leader in the field of plant ecology and was trained in all manner of plant care, from potting orchids to tending sick palm trees. He had, Aziraphale read, trained all over the world, and was known in many spheres as ‘the plant whisperer’. Aziraphale smiled softly, amused by the thought of the rather stoic fellow he’d met earlier that day talking to his greenery. Crowley was new to Tadfield this year, which certainly explained why Aziraphale had never spotted him before. Aziraphale immediately had to tamp down the rush of relief he got at finding this out; he was a professional, and certainly was not about to admit feeling glad that he’d not missed out on years worth of opportunities to gaze at his rather striking colleague. Were they even colleagues? Aziraphale had said it himself; though he was well respected, some staff from other departments had been known to belittle those who dedicated their lives to Literature and the arts. 

But Crowley hadn’t. Crowley had volunteered for the drive. 

This man, with his dark outfit and his cheeky drawl of an accent. With a smile that had momentarily stopped Aziraphale’s lungs, forcing him to catch his breath. With enough intelligence and determination to earn countless qualifications in scientific fields. With eyes the colour of the evening sun, setting on the horizon.

They were opposites in every way, Aziraphale knew. And yet, when their gazes had locked, when their hands had touched, he had realised something quite suddenly: opposites most certainly do attract.

His hand was placed over his mouth as the other scrolled, and he stopped as his eyes landed on Crowley’s staff profile picture. He noted that, bizarrely, the man was wearing a dark pair of sunglasses. Nonetheless, he was quite the work of art. With the force of a thousand tonnes, Aziraphale realised that this exercise was not going to have increased his ability to focus. Instead, as he felt his cheeks warm to the touch once more, he knew he had proven exactly what he had hoped to disprove: like a teenage boy, he had found himself wildly attracted to a man he had just met. Of all things! The absolute inconvenience of it! 

Some people got soaps for Christmas. Many received cards, or chocolate. This year, the world had gifted the renowned, distinguished, gentlemanly Dr. Fell... a crush. 

He closed the tab, dragged his hands down his face, and let his head rest in his palms, feeling the flutter in the pit of his stomach.

‘Oh, fuck.’

* * *

By the time Aziraphale got through marking a good portion of his Wilde essays, darkness had descended. Still sitting in his office chair, he’d managed to regain his composure after doing a dissertation supervision meeting for a student who was writing about some particularly sobering wartime literature. Trench warfare really did do wonders when it came to dampening his passions. Tracy popped her head around the door; Aziraphale had a habit of working late into the night if nobody stopped him in his tracks, so she had taken to checking in on him when she was leaving work.

‘Everything alright, Pet?’

He looked up, startled, and then relaxed as he saw who it was. 

‘Tracy! Gosh, is it that time already?!’ He checked the clock: it was going up to half seven.

‘It most certainly is.’ She stepped into the room, taking his coat off the hanger and holding it up. ‘Hometime, for the both of us.’

Aziraphale could hardly argue. In all honesty, he’d found that his quality of life had vastly improved since Tracy had taken him under her wing not long after his arrival at Tadfield. She always knew exactly when to drag him away from his desk. He capped his pen and stood, brushing himself down.

‘Did you manage to gather some volunteers from your trip to the sciencey place?’ 

Aziraphale smiled, rounding his desk and slipping his arms into his coat when Tracy held it up for him. 

‘I did. You knew I would. Thank you for your sage advice, I’d have likely gotten myself in a right old worry about it had you not been there to keep me calm.’

Tracy gave her usual knowing smile and shrug as he turned to face her; she tugged his lapels, smoothing them down. ‘I know, love. That’s why I’m around.’

Aziraphale gathered his things, and they headed out of the building together.

‘I sent out some information to the volunteers via the E Mail system. The first meeting will be tomorrow!’

‘Aziraphale, you don’t have to say “the ee-mail system” every bloody time. They’re just called emails. I’m about twenty years your senior and you’re making yourself sound like my Grandfather.’

Aziraphale just rolled his eyes. He wasn’t at all concerned with whether he’d said ‘emails’ right; he’d only just stopped referring to it as the _electronic mailing system_. 

‘You knew what I meant!’

Tracy shot him a stern look, but she couldn’t hold it. He was too much of a sweetheart. There was a companionable silence as they stepped out into the frosty evening air. When Aziraphale spoke, his words danced out into the night sky in the form of his breath.

‘Got a staff volunteer. Anthony Crowley.’

Tracy’s eyes widened. Unlike Aziraphale, she didn’t stay confined to an office and did attend staff social events. She had heard plenty about the new guy, who had caused quite a stir with his striking looks and suave outfits. Volunteering for a Christmas drive sounded entirely out of character based on her knowledge of the surly Anthony Crowley.

‘Crowley? As in life sciences Crowley?’ She placed a hand on Aziraphale’s arm and pulled him to a stop. ‘Plant expert Dr. Anthony J. Crowley?’

Aziraphale, having hoped he could drop this news casually and see if Tracy had any gossip to offer, was more than a little glad of the freezing cold night: it gave him plausible deniability for the blush that painted his cheeks.

‘Yes, yes, him! There isn’t another Crowley is there, yes it’s him! Why are you in such a hoo-hah over it?’ He exclaimed, tone more than a little defensive.

Tracy gave Aziraphale an appraising look, before breaking into a knowing smile. Aziraphale looked away, his lips pressing into a thin line as he entered a state of internal panic.

_Oh. Excellent. Perfect. She’s bloody clocked it already. Bugger it all!_

She spoke flippantly as they reached the gates, just before they were due to part ways for the night.

‘I don’t know why you’re getting so embarrassed. I’ve heard he’s bloody GORGEO-’

‘GOOD NIGHT, Tracy!’

Aziraphale turned on his heel and started his brisk walk home. He heard her laughing fondly as he went.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, many thanks to @sapphicarnation (twitter) for beta-ing. Long live the Oxford Comma!


	3. The Committee Meeting

Aziraphale had been eagerly anticipating the first meeting of the Christmas Drive committee all day. It truly was his favourite time of year. He always loved seeing the students put their intelligence to use in order to raise money for charitable causes. Working on the project had always been an utterly joyous experience for him, and he expected this year to be the same. His level of excitement was bordering on giddiness, and if anyone would’ve asked why he’d have told them how much he loved witnessing generosity, or that Christmas songs cheered him immensely, or that he enjoyed Winter weather and feeling festive. What he would not have told them is that visions of a certain sharply dressed ecology expert kept popping into the forefront of his mind.

He’d keep that part to himself.

 _Besides_ , Aziraphale thought to himself. _He hasn’t even RSVP’d the invite to the meeting. The man might not even turn up._

But that didn’t do anything to stop the excited flutter that occurred in the pit of his stomach when he thought about the prospect of seeing Crowley.

* * *

The day passed at an agonising pace. Crowley strutted about between lecture theatres and delivered his classes with his usual levels of snark and intimidation, but today there was something different sitting behind his attitude. Something new making him tetchy. Nerves. Tamped down, repressed, vehemently denied nerves. Not the unpleasant kind, mind.

He’d opened his inbox that morning only to see a perfectly formatted email from one Dr. A.Z. Fell, complete with a formal greeting and professional sign off.

_ <received: 18:28PM, sender: a.z.fell@utad.ac.uk> _

_Dear Dr. A.J. Crowley,_

_This E Mail is sent with regards to our earlier meeting at the start of your ten o’clock lecture. Many thanks once again for allowing me to drop in: it was enormously helpful._

_To follow up on your offer to help out with the Christmas charity drive, if you’d genuinely like to get involved the first committee meeting will take place at the close of the University working day tomorrow. Here is the address:_

_Seminar Room 4_

_William of Tadfield Building_

_Arts Quarter_

_University of Tadfield_

_N1AT RUC_

_Not to worry if you can’t make it - although I do hope to see you there._

_Kind regards,_

_Dr. A.Z. Fell._

Crowley had tried to delete the message. He had made numerous valiant attempts, hovering over the ‘send to bin’ option with his mouse. Despite his efforts, his eyes always seemed to land in the same place just as he was about to click, causing him to stop in his tracks.

_hope to see you there._

Just one tiny phrase. Sometimes that’s all it takes to consolidate something wonderful.

* * *

As Aziraphale made his way across one of the University’s picturesque quadrants towards the William of Tadfield building, he couldn’t help but give an excited wiggle. The custodial team were busy putting the last of the festive decorations up, and the quad was aglow with colourful lights. He smiled enthusiastically, stopping for a small catch up with some of the staff who were hard at work making the place look so beautiful.

‘An absolutely phenomenal job, as always!’

The head of the team stepped down off his ladder and gave a rare smile. An older fellow with a gruff Scottish accent, Shadwell could be rather blunt when he wanted to be. However, over the years, he had to admit: he’d come to be quite fond of Aziraphale and his unending gratitude for the work of the custodial team. The enthusiastic blond was always the first to say something nice whenever Shadwell and his staff did something to keep the University ticking, and he was full of gushing compliments every year as soon as he saw the Festive arrangements that they had come up with. Across the last few years, Shadwell had come to be quite mellow with Aziraphale - and even _enjoyed_ talking to him. It did seem that this was the effect that Fell had on people across the board: Shadwell didn’t like to think on this too much, lest he become worried about the sort of witchery that it might suggest (there _was_ , after all, something suspiciously hypnotic about Fell’s voice). Ultimately, he had often seen the man walking around campus with one Madame Tracy; whatever his own suspicions might have led him to believe, Shadwell trusted the world-wise woman, and so he had accepted Fell as a friend.

‘Why thank you, Your Honour,’ he approached Fell. ‘Should I be expecting a message about organising the big fundraiser sometime soon?’

Aziraphale brightened even further, if such a thing was even possible.

‘Well as it so happens I’m just on my way to meet the committee now! We should have it all planned quickly enough and I will be in touch with the details as soon as possible.’

‘Right-o, I’ll let ye get on to where you’re headed then, laddie!’ Shadwell tipped his beaten cap towards the angelic man.

‘You’re a Saint. Keep up the great work. It never quite feels like Christmas until you’ve turned your hand to brightening up the campus. Cheerio!’

Aziraphale headed off, pulling his tartan scarf up around his neck to brace from the biting chill on the air.

Shadwell watched after him for a moment, lips quirking. He shook his head incredulously, imitating Aziraphale with a fond smile.

‘Cheerio?’ He stepped back onto his ladder. ‘Tsk!’

And then he carried on with his work, the University grounds getting more festive by the minute.

* * *

Aziraphale greeted the students as they arrived. He chatted to them about their classes, listening intently to the fundraising ideas that they’d already begun to formulate. Throwing glances towards the clock, he kept them talking until he could no longer, pushing back the start of the meeting and definitively not keeping an eye on the door just in case a certain colleague arrived. 

After around ten minutes of stalling, he had no choice but to begin. Only slightly disheartened, he strode up to the front of the room, clapped his hands together, and cleared his throat politely. All eyes were on him in seconds: he was a captivating presence, and he didn’t fail to notice the flattering love heart eyes that he often saw out in the audience whenever he was speaking to a group.

‘Evening All, thank you ever so much for co-’

Aziraphale almost jumped out of his skin as the door swung open, crashing into the wall and making quite the racket. A flustered bundle of black fabric stumbled into the room, cursing quietly - though not quietly enough - as their entrance made significantly more of a scene than intended.

‘ _Shit- Bugger!'_

The students turned in their seats and Aziraphale stopped in his tracks, gazing over at the doorway, eyes full of quizzical wonder. Could it be? No, surely not. The man was a stickler for punctuality, according to his reputation. 

The bundle stood up, closing the door and brushing themselves down ineffectually. Aziraphale caught a glimpse of familiar red hair as the stranger unwound their scarf, and his heart thrummed in his chest once more.

Crowley finally turned around, bristling slightly at all of the eyes on him until he met Aziraphale’s gaze. He spoke, feigning nonchalance.

‘Sorry ‘m late. Got caught up.’ He paused, hearing his heart pound in his ears as a result of the silence of the room. Turning back to the students, he broke the tension in his usual way: by inciting a healthy bit of terror in them. ‘Am here now. No need for you all to look at me as if I’ve just delivered the bloody Antichrist. Carry on!’

The students quickly turned back to face Fell when they heard Crowley snap, and he allowed his hackles to drop when Aziraphale gave him a warm, welcoming smile. He half expected the man to drag him to the front, or put him further on the spot. But Fell simply resumed his bright chatter, taking all the attention away from Crowley and allowing him to sink into a seat and catch his breath.

* * *

Aziraphale’s heart was beating ten to the dozen. Crowley had come! He’d come to the meeting. He was watching him talk; Aziraphale was acutely aware of those eyes following him as he paced around the front of the room, and it was setting his cheeks ablaze. It was a good job that he was an experienced speaker, else he’d have been tripping over his tongue left, right, and centre. 

He led the meeting like a pro, delegating jobs, splitting students into focused teams, and rousing their enthusiasm. By the time the meeting came to a close, the committee had already planned out their aims for the year’s fundraising, and had come up with some key goals for the coming days. Crowley was in awe of the way that Aziraphale seemed to drum up zeal in the tired-looking students. The sheer amount of magnanimity on show in the room was staggering. 

Aziraphale had cast a few sidelong glances his way, willing him to get involved: Crowley had responded by looking at his phone, or his watch, or the walls. Despite his reluctance, as the meeting had gone on he’d found himself inspired by those around him, and he couldn’t help but start bouncing ideas around in his head. Christmas tree decoration markets, beautiful poinsettia sales, wreath-making classes… but he just couldn’t bring himself to speak up and share them. 

When Aziraphale did manage to catch his eye as he was bringing the meeting to an end, the encouraging smile he threw Crowley’s way startled him into a realisation: perhaps, soon, he would feel comfortable enough here to offer his suggestions. Crowley attempted to ignore how lovely that thought made him feel inside, and failed astronomically.

As the students trailed out of the room, Crowley stood at the back, leaning on the wall. 

Aziraphale waited until the room was empty, then spoke.

‘I’m glad that you made it.’

Crowley felt the tension drop out of his shoulders. Fell had spoken, a conversation was on the cards. He stepped forwards and, noticing that the other man had started collecting stray mind maps and budget sheets from the desks, piled a couple up himself.

‘Yes! Yeah,’ he paused. How was it that this man made him want to be polite so badly? ‘About my, uh, arrival. Didn’t mean to bumble in like that, a student was asking me a couple of questions so I got a little bit delayed. It wasn’t my intention to, uh, disrupt-’

‘Nonsense, dear boy! I know how it is, no need to worry about it. It really is jolly good that you showed.’ 

Aziraphale paused. His movements slowed as he wondered how to phrase his next words tactfully.

‘Although I couldn’t help but notice, you didn’t seem overly enthused by the things we were discussing?’

He said it casually, giving Crowley room to answer however he felt most comfortable. He didn’t know why the man had been so reluctant to join in, but he certainly wasn’t judging him for it. He’d come along, after all, and that people might turn up was all he ever hoped for on the first day.

Crowley’s cheeks pinked a little. Fell was being so gentle in his probing, and it warmed him to his bones.

‘Yes. Well.’ He was about to shrug, but he made the mistake of looking up. Fell had put his pages down on the desk and was studying him with a soft, inquisitive look. The white of the classroom lights brought out the moss green tint in his eyes, and Crowley found himself quite enamoured. So he gave Fell’s implied question the time of day.

‘If I’m honest, the lateness did put me off a bit. I am a stickler on that front. Prefer to be early, really. Get prepared, make sure I don’t miss anything. Helps me work with the students when I feel as if I know what I’m doing.’

Aziraphale gave him the slightest nod, and Crowley saw a flash of regret cross his face before it was replaced with a look of delighted determination.

‘I completely understand. Of course, going forward, I will be more than happy to share all agendas and information with you well in advance, if that would be preferable? I’d have waited a little longer, but I wasn’t-’ 

Aziraphale paused, and a fetching blush bloomed on his cheeks. He quickly looked down, shuffling some papers.

‘I wasn’t sure if you were going to come.’

Crowley was watching with bated breath now. Fell was a sight to behold. He’d observed throughout the evening as the sprightly man had walked from desk to desk, discussing festive plans with groups of the volunteers. At points, he’d seemed almost hyperactive in his excitement, beaming from ear to ear and gesticulating passionately. It was infectious, and whilst appreciating it in silence, Crowley had also noted more details about Fell that had stoked the embers of his growing attraction. The slope of his nose; the way he fixed his clothes after his little moments of giddiness, so they always sat neatly; the gold signet ring that he wore on the outermost finger of his right hand. 

Right now, he was twirling that ring around his finger, and Crowley didn’t even realise that his attention had zoned in on it until he looked up again, straight into Fell’s eyes. 

There was a pause.

Aziraphale had almost forgotten how to breathe when he had realised that Crowley was staring down at his hands. The intensity of the other man’s appraisal was sending him up the wall, his skin tingling. He was pouring all of his might into stopping his eyes from tracing the line of Crowley’s figure. All evening, he had felt warm under the watch of the mysterious A.J. Crowley, who had sat at the back of the room, unknowable to everyone else who was present. Aziraphale had found himself blushing, smiling, getting giddy. Though he knew that it might be a little much to ask for in the first meeting, a primal part of him had yearned for Crowley to come and join him, talk to him. He longed to see Crowley animated and engaged. For now, his colleague remained a mystery: as always, Aziraphale wanted to know more. 

_Get ahold of yourself, Fell. Say something!_

He stepped around the desk, picking up the papers and tucking them under his arm. It only took a couple of paces for him to be within arms reach of Crowley, and he spoke in softer tones to compensate for their closer proximity.

‘Going forward, it would be truly wonderful to hear your thoughts. Ideas, perhaps. I appreciate that today was a tricky start: I really, truly don’t say this to put you off. But perhaps in future meetings, you might try getting a little more… into the spirit of things?’

Crowley, at that moment, stopped working. As Fell came towards him he tried drawing breath in order to resituate himself, but only caught onto the scent of the cheerful man’s cologne. He immediately recognised the notes that came from the natural world: bergamot, with hints of vanilla and cedar. When Fell spoke, he spoke lower this time. Crowley latched onto the deep purr that sat beneath the lilting pitch of his voice and might’ve sworn that he felt himself levitate.

_Get into the spirit of things._

Crowley resented ‘the spirit of things’. He was principally opposed to entering anything even nearing ‘the spirit of things’. There was nothing on Earth that could possibly entice him to adopt ‘the spirit of things’.

Except, apparently, Dr. A.Z. Fell.

As Fell stopped speaking, Crowley pursed his lips ever so slightly, nodding as he formulated his response.

‘Mmm. Yes, spirit. Got it. Can do spirit. Love spirit, me.’

‘Oh, oh marvellous, dear boy! You’ll be carolling in no time!’ Fell beamed as he teased, and Crowley tipped his head, scratching the back of his neck. The heat in the room was almost stifling, and for once Crowley found himself craving the cold air.

‘Right, best get going,’ he excused himself, and Fell looked... disappointed. ‘You’ve got my email. Update me?’

The literature lecturer looked up again, a smile returning to his cherubic face.

‘I will be sure to do so! Have a splendid evening, Dr. Crowley.’

‘Just Crowley. And you enjoy your evening too, Dr. Fell.’

‘Please, call me Aziraphale-’

Crowley’s eyes widened. He may have seen the name written out on the man’s staff profile, but it was a whole new level of poetic when it came out of that distinguished mouth.

Fell spoke again.

‘Everything alright, Crowley?’

As ever, Crowley offered an intelligible noise in response.

‘Nn-yeh. Yup. All good. I’ll be off.’

He walked away, pace quick, and was gone within moments. 

Aziraphale turned away, and was about to allow himself a dreamy sigh, but caught himself as the door swung back open. A red-haired head, now sporting a pair of dark sunglasses, popped around it.

‘Aziraphale?’

As he turned back towards the door, Aziraphale’s heart did a triple somersault at the way his forename sounded on Crowley’s lips: most people didn’t bother using it, finding it ‘too hard to pronounce’. This utterly lovely creature had gotten it right the very first time.

‘Yes?’

A pause.

‘I’m glad I could make it too.’

And then, as suddenly as he had arrived, he was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thankyou @sapphicarnation for the beta read.


	4. A Spot of Lurking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I hope those reading have liked this story so far. This is the first multi-chapter work I've ever done and I've been thoroughly enjoying writing it. There are a number of updates scheduled that will coincide with Christmas and the New Year - I'm really looking forward to sharing them.
> 
> Many thanks to those of you who've left kudos and comments; every single one puts a huge smile on my face. 
> 
> Shout out once again to @sapphiclemons (twitter), the wonderful beta reader for this fic.
> 
> Each chapter has been more and more fun to write as the boys get closer, so I do hope that you enjoy the coming updates too.

Crowley was lurking. 

Generally, he was a successful lurker. 

He could slink around unseen if he wanted to, avoiding people he didn’t want to talk to and gathering information pertaining to things that, were he to know about them, might be in his interest. 

At present, he was on an intel-gathering mission regarding a certain man who was very much _of interest_.

He had never been up to the Arts Quarter of the University until the evening prior, when he’d run up the hill and tumbled into Aziraphale’s meeting pushing ten minutes late. It had been agonising, all those students turning to look at him as if he’d an extra head. Not to mention Aziraphale himself! The man had been standing, resplendent, at the front of the room, delivering key information to his charges when Crowley had burst in and caused his disturbance. Yes: Crowley had been suitably mortified - but Aziraphale, cheerful as always, hadn’t given it a second thought. 

It was mid-morning, and the campus was busy. Crowley found himself in the middle of an admittedly beautiful quadrant, with fresh grass and beds of thriving flowers. He noted that the whole place, much in keeping with the rest of the campus, had been tastefully decorated to acknowledge the festive season. Begrudgingly impressed, he surveyed the well-kept blooms as he sidled up to the building that housed the literature department.

* * *

Aziraphale was attempting to lurk.

He was terrible at it.

There wasn’t much he found he could do to blend in, particularly not when attempting to navigate departments and buildings that he was unfamiliar with. If nothing else, his light colour palette and preference for wearing clothes from the Victorian Era had a tendency to catch eyes. So, after a few minutes of unsuccessful lurking, he decided to use his normal approach: he would simply pretend that he was supposed to be here.

The science quarter was a sprawling mismatch of beautiful old architecture and sleek new buildings. The last time he’d been in the life sciences department, he’d had to rush. This time, he could pay attention to his surroundings.

Beautiful statues dedicated to underappreciated scientists and influential alumni were dotted along the pathways. Exotic flowers grew in dedicated beds which sat close to the walls of the building. Aziraphale took a breath, steeled himself, and feigned confidence. He was meant to be here. Yes. Totally ordinary for him to be in the wrong department, on the wrong side of campus, with no correspondence to offer. 

He strode into the building before he had the chance to turn on his heel and run away.

Not five minutes later, Aziraphale stood on a glossy mezzanine, looking down at the bustling foyer that served as the hub of the life sciences department. In the end, he’d not had to do much blagging to get in. Wensleydale and Brian, two of his new volunteers for this year’s drive, were on reception. They had simply assumed he was here to speak to Crowley and had buzzed him in no question. 

After weaving his way through countless students and up some rather unnerving glass stairs, he had found himself in his current position. He surveyed the humdrum: the modern architechture, the huge glass windows, the rushing students. This was the world that Crowley strutted his way through every day. 

When he had spent a while situating himself, he headed to the directions board that hung on the wall across the corridor. It pointed out where each of the departments were based; his eyes scanned the board until he saw it:

**Department of Plant Ecology - D Block, Floor 5.**

Aziraphale followed the arrows until he reached Crowley’s real kingdom. Here, finally, his inability to blend in came back to bite. 

* * *

Anathema spotted Fell straight away: sensing that he was attempting to be covert, she trailed him at a distance. He was walking through the corridors, looking at wall displays and peeping into labs. He spent a good while gazing up at the terribly designed poster that Crowley had put up to advertise his extra credit greenhouse jobs before carrying on down the corridor, popping his blond head around more doors and corners. He seemed quite in awe after glancing into some of the best kept planting rooms, lips parted and eyes shining. It was sweet enough to watch, but after a while, Anathema had seen enough. She rounded the corner that she was hidden behind and slinked up to Aziraphale’s side.

‘Hello there Dr. Fell-’

Aziraphale jumped halfway to the ceiling, gasping out loud. He was getting quite tired of being scared out of his wits by scientists. He turned to face her, looking like a rabbit caught in a particularly bright set of headlights.

‘Anathema! Fancy seeing you here!’ He cursed himself when she raised an eyebrow. ‘I mean- what a lovely coincidence that I should see you whilst… visiting!’

‘Visiting?’

‘Yes! Just popping by. Wanted to see some of the, uh,’ Aziraphale paused, looking around. He reached for something that sounded true and missed by a mile. ‘Plants!’

‘Not happy with the flowerbeds over in the Arts Quarter?’

He floundered, and just as he was about to spiral into stress Anathema broke into a smile.

‘I’m teasing, Dr. Fell. You’re more than welcome here, you should know that! Every year I invite you to come and see what we get up to here, it’s nice to see you!’

Aziraphale relaxed. Anathema had been a first-year at Tadfield when he had arrived five years ago and had been one of the first ever volunteers for the Christmas Drive. She was a keen botanist, now working towards her PhD, and what she said was true: every year she had extended an offer to tour him around the Plant Ecology department. A momentary pang of guilt hit when he realised that he had never come until his crush had piqued his curiosity: he reined it in, trying to be less hard on himself. After all, he had always wanted to come, but he really was an incredibly busy man. Anathema knew that and had never been upset by it. He only had this morning off due to a coincidental leak in the lecture theatre he’d been scheduled to teach in. Not to mention, he was here now: he had time to give, so he would give it. 

‘It’s lovely to see you too, my dear. Why don’t you show me a little of what you’ve been getting up to?’

They wandered together, Anathema showing Aziraphale some beautiful flowers and finely reared ferns. She was a lover of literature too, particularly that which pertained to folklore and witchcraft, and so they discussed that in-depth on their travels. Aziraphale was in the middle of gushing about books of prophecy when they came to a stop before some huge double doors. 

‘What’s this?’ He asked tentatively, noticing the look of consideration that Anathema was giving him as they stood by the entrance to what looked to be a rather large room.

After an unnerving moment of her squinting at the space outlining his head, her eyes settled on his again. 

'This is Dr. Crowley’s stomping ground! His office and some of the specialised greenhouses are back there. It’s kind of a sacred place for us in this department.’

At the mention of Crowley, Aziraphale’s head turned instinctively towards the doors. His expression took on an ever so slightly dreamy tint, eyelids giving a flutter and mouth opening ever so slightly.

‘Oh!’ 

His tone was light. Crowley’s offices. The greenhouses where he worked, tending to rare and delicate flora and fauna. Where he taught and researched. For a moment too long, Aziraphale got caught up in a daydream about Crowley, black shirt sleeves folded, digging and tending and nurturing. Speaking softly to the plants. Suddenly, he felt Anathema’s knowing gaze all too intensely. As a dusting of pink appeared on his cheekbones, he made a go of being casual. 

‘Is he?’ Aziraphale pointed. ‘In there? Now?’

Anathema had the audacity to _giggle_. Aziraphale was squirming inside: why oh why was he so terrible at hiding when he had a _thing_ for someone?

‘Not right now. He’s out doing some errands. Bad luck, really - he’s hardly ever out of these rooms!’

Aziraphale hid his disappointment - though, how well, he couldn’t say - and chuckled.

‘Never mind. Busy man, I presume.’

‘Certainly at times, yes. But he finds a way to fit things in when he really wants to.’

Aziraphale thought about that for a moment.

‘Yes. He does seem rather good like that.’

They smiled at one another, then went on with the tour.

* * *

Crowley had managed to slither his way around a good portion of the literature department unnoticed. The place was a world away from the sleek, glossy surroundings that he was accustomed to: grand, winding staircases, offices tucked away down erratic little corridors, polished parquet flooring. There were photos and artworks hung on the walls, cases of literary artefacts lining certain hallways. He studied the place with a keen scientific eye, searching for anything that might tell him something about Aziraphale.

After a good while’s worth of looking, Crowley had seen plenty. Photos of Aziraphale at copious amounts of events: speaking animatedly to crowds at a fiction festival hosted by the University, handing out achievement awards to promising writers, directing student plays. He was everywhere, taking part in everything, and always looking flawless whilst doing so. 

Crowley came to a pause by a wall of framed pictures. They were all group photos of the committees from the previous Christmas Drives. Students clad in their festive jumpers, smiling and making funny faces. The Great Hall in the University’s main building was the backdrop, and Crowley could see that each year it had been decorated to become some sort of festive wonderland. Aziraphale, grinning and twinkling away like the star of Bethlehem, wearing a Santa hat or a tinsel scarf or a Christmas themed bow-tie. Crowley couldn’t help it now; he broke into a smile. This year, he’d be in the picture. He’d be stood by Aziraphale and they’d be printed and framed, no doubt put on this very wall. Something needy and excited undulated in his chest at the thought of it. Begrudgingly, he realised that he’d even be willing to wear a Christmas hat if it meant he’d end up here.

‘Can I help you, love?’

Crowley whirled around to face the red-haired woman who had just almost gifted him a heart attack for Christmas. She chuckled when she saw his startled expression.

‘Oh I am sorry my dear, I do have a bit of a knack for sneaking up on people like that!’ 

She glanced at the pictures and, seeing what he was looking at, broke into a minute smile.

* * *

Tracy, of course, knew exactly who she was speaking to. Whilst Crowley could lurk with the best of them, he was still new to these parts of campus and Tracy was, after all, the mother of the department; it was her job to keep an eye out for suspicious occurrences. At least that was what she told herself when she went out on her regular searches for departmental gossip. Anthony Crowley had been a person of interest for her ever since Aziraphale’s little shy storming away moment out on the drive a few nights previous, and so naturally she had found out everything she could about the man within hours - including what he looked like. As a result, when she had seen him gazing up at the wall not far from Aziraphale’s office, she’d been too excited to stay away.

Crowley calmed his pounding heart. His first instinct was to make a quick exit, but he reigned it in for a moment when he considered the colourful character who’d accosted him.

‘Not to worry. Actually, I do appear to be rather lost. Never been in this building before. Anthony Crowley.’

Tracy smiled. He certainly lived up to his reputation; pretty, dark clothes, sunglasses. He did, however, seem far less prickly than others had made out.

‘I’m Tracy, lead admin for this department. Are you headed somewhere in particular?’

Crowley considered his options. He could lie, say he got lost. Or he could take this opportunity to gather some more intel.

‘I was just hoping to speak to Aziraphal- Dr. Fell. Can’t seem to find his office?’

At this, the woman’s eyes twinkled with repressed delight.

‘Well, you were almost there! His office is just up those stairs.’

Tracy pointed towards a small, stone staircase, clearly part of the original architecture of the building. It was framed by a medieval-style archway and led up to one of the turrets of the majestic old building. Of course Aziraphale’s office was in a bloody tower. He felt the mysterious pathway calling out to him and turned towards it, ready to thank Tracy when she interrupted his train of thought.

‘Unfortunately, Aziraphale isn’t actually here at the moment. I deliver all of his post and memos though, quite often throughout the day, so if you have a message?’

Crowley’s excitement vapourised, and he tripped over his response.

‘Um, just tell him I was here. In fact, don’t. Don’t tell him. I’ll catch him at some point.’

Tracy raised an amused eyebrow. It seemed that Aziraphale had the famously stoic A.J. Crowley quite stupefied. 

‘Of course. Unlucky, really. He spends all of his time up in that office. Welcomes people in of course, for the most part. But it’s rare to find him elsewhere. He takes his meals up there, does all of his work up there. He stays late, I have to force the man to go home! I reckon he’d bloody live there if I didn’t make him leave!’

Before he could stop himself, Crowley’s mouth betrayed him.

‘Nobody to get home to, then?’

_Shit. What the hell did you say that for you utter tool, she’s going to think you’re some sort of-_

Tracy was smiling.

‘Well, honestly he’s a very private man in that regard. I only know because I’m a friend of his. But you are too, thanks to the drive, so he wouldn’t mind me saying. He’s not committed to anybody at the moment. No partner, no kids. Don’t go spreading it around though, lest the bloody love letters start up again! I have to deliver enough mail to that man without a load of poems about his pretty eyes bunged on top of the pile.’

Crowley’s cheeks were burning, and he couldn’t quite hide it. But maybe, just maybe, considering what he’d been able to find out, this little trip had been worth it anyway. He waited a moment before speaking, so as not to risk blurting out his own eloquent thoughts on Fell’s captivating eyes.

‘Ha! Haha!’ His laughter was a little too keen, and Tracy gave him a slightly pained look. He soldiered on. ‘I’ll be sure to keep it on the down-low.’

Tracy nodded conspiratorially at him. ‘Good man.’

The natural progression of events led them to walk together back towards the main lobby of the building. Incredibly enough, Crowley found himself talking amicably with Tracy by the time she had to break off.

‘Alright lovey, so the way out is just down that corridor and to the left. Do pop by again, you’re welcome any time. Aziraphale would love to see you.’

She said that last part with a smirk, before whirling around and heading off to work. Crowley stood rooted to the spot whilst he considered what on Earth she could possibly mean.

* * *

Meanwhile, Aziraphale was walking his way back up to the literature building. Anathema had given him quite a wonderful tour: the work that was being undertaken by Crowley and his students really was incredibly impressive. He tugged up his scarf as he walked briskly through the bitter cold. The sky was clear and the day was beautiful and bright. Everything seemed a little more lovely than usual. The smell of winter was fresh on the air and he could just about catch the aroma of roasted chestnuts and spiced apples, the breeze carrying the scent up the hill from the Christmas markets that sat in the town below. He was finding it increasingly difficult to tame the wild thrashing of butterflies in his stomach when he thought of Crowley. It was almost - but not quite - a blessing that the man hadn’t been there today: had Aziraphale had to watch him at work, digging and measuring and watering, he’d probably not have survived. He certainly wouldn’t have been able to communicate. He lost himself again in thinking about the flick of Crowley’s hair, the way he sauntered like a rock star, the way his lips quirked when he smiled. He thought specifically about Crowley’s lower lip, which looked perfectly ready to be bitten at any given moment.

Aziraphale reprimanded himself before he could go on with his fantasy.

 _You're at work, for goodness' sake!_

Since he had begun his career at Tadfield, nobody had walked into his life and torn him asunder like this. It had been a new start for him after quite a terrible year: he had relocated, doing everything he could to leave bad memories and old patterns behind. To feel such butterflies again put the fear of God into him after all of the emotional healing he had done. But oh, how lovely it felt to have his heart flutter again. How hopeful, for one who had been unsure whether he would ever be able to partake in romance again. Aziraphale thought about Crowley once more. He thought about his voice, which Aziraphale longed to hear more of. About his seemingly reluctant volunteering, which Aziraphale was so intrigued by. About his beautiful eyes, which always seemed so soft when Aziraphale looked into them. 

_Allow yourself this_ , he thought to himself.

He had done enough holding back, being afraid, being alone. It was time to open himself up to feeling this way again.

Aziraphale took the steps up to the entrance of his department, cheeks aglow, and walked into the lobby. He was about to round a corner when he heard his name being called.

‘Aziraphale!’

He wanted to walk on. To pretend he’d not heard and just keep on until he got back to his office. This was the last thing he needed. He wanted to ignore the man shouting his name. But Aziraphale was nothing if not polite, so he turned and smiled as Gabriel caught up to him.

‘Gabriel. How lovely to see you.’

‘Hello Sunshine! Just needed a quick chit chat about your Christmas Fair.’

Already, Aziraphale felt his body turning tense, his jaw tightening. Gabriel was well aware of how little Aziraphale appreciated that condescending nickname which the man seemed to have pulled out of thin air. He was also aware that the drive was much more than a ‘Christmas fair’. But Aziraphale wouldn’t rise to the push. As always, he would stay collected.

‘Ah. Yes, well we’ve made our plans. The committee and I looked over the scheduling and we’ve managed to book the Great Hall for the necessary dates, I sent the papers over-’

‘Well actually that’s kinda what I needed to tell you,’ he said, with a painfully disingenuous frown.

Aziraphale was not a man of hate. But if he were, Gabriel may well have been a target. The way he interrupted; the way he elongated his words unnecessarily; the way he was too obsessed with having his own way to get on board with an opportunity to help make something wonderful.

‘You can’t use the hall.’

Aziraphale, who had been trying to edge away from what he had deemed an inconsequential nuisance of a conversation, suddenly froze on the spot. He turned his face to Gabriel, disbelief painted all over it.

‘Excuse me?’

Gabriel, used to going unchallenged, took a small step back. 

‘You can’t use the hall on those dates. It’s actually booked up for the whole month. We’re having a bunch of conference visitors and summits that will bring in a huge chunk of festive income for the University.’

Aziraphale turned his whole frame towards the taller man now, his expression as cold as ice. He had been gently taming the finance department for the last couple of years, consistently proving them wrong when the Christmas Drive went from success to success, bringing fantastic publicity to the University every time it took place. This was different. To directly hijack the work that he and the students had put into the project was a whole new ball game, and Aziraphale had heard quite enough.

‘You mean to tell me that, knowing that we use the hall for the Drive every single year, your department has booked it out for the entire _month_? That you were unable to set aside two days on the calendar for the biggest seasonal event that this University holds? The event that hugely bolsters our positive reputation, gives students who are stuck here over the holiday season something to do, and allows us to give back to our local community - who, by the way, not only allow thousands of people to descend on their town year upon year, but welcome them with open arms?’

Aziraphale had raised his voice, and Gabriel’s eyes were wide. He was backing away slowly, Aziraphale advancing furiously, pointing and gesticulating. Gabriel had never seen Fell like this before. Neither had anybody else, and a small crowd had formed. When the head of finance looked around and saw how much stink eye he was receiving from students and staff alike, he realised almost definitely too late that he may well have gone too far. 

‘Aziraphale. Aziraphale- Dr. Fell, please!’

Aziraphale halted, composing himself when he registered the presence of onlookers. His voice came down to a whisper that was laced with pure fire; a whisper that came from the back of Aziraphale’s own throat and hit Gabriel directly in the back of his. 

‘I hope you’re bloody pleased with yourself.’

And with that, Aziraphale turned on his heel and stalked towards his office, leaving Gabriel floundering in the middle of the crowd.

* * *

Crowley was speechless. Tucked behind a wide pillar in the huge lobby of the literature department, he breathed and tried to process what he had just witnessed. 

Just when Crowley had been nearing the exit of the building Aziraphale had come walking in, pursued by the great oaf in the lilac suit. Crowley had thrown himself out of sight, but he needn't have bothered: quite the crowd had gathered once Fell had started to tear the finance manager a new one. 

He had never been so attracted to a man in his life. Aziraphale’s jaw had squared out and he’d advanced on Gabriel like a predator, dominating both him and the attention of the room. Crowley blushed: he’d have much to think about on that subject at a later point, but as he leaned back against the pillar, a little slice of reality hit him. 

Gabriel had said no hall. And no hall meant no Drive.

Startled into action by his realisation, Crowley pushed himself off the great pillar and rushed out of the building, being uncharacteristically clumsy as he went. He ran back down to his own department, skidding to a halt outside the building and making his way to his office.

No hall meant no drive.

No drive meant no committee.

No committee meant no excuse to spend time with Aziraphale.

  
  


It was time for Crowley to put his problem-solving skills to the test.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks again for top notch beta reading from @sapphiclemons (twitter).
> 
> New chapters will be popping up more frequently as we get closer to Christmas. 
> 
> Stay well! :-)


	5. Step Into My Office

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello - back again! (I did say the update schedule got more frequent from now on ;D)
> 
> Here's a little follow on from yesterday's chapter to keep things ticking over until the weekend.
> 
> Thanks again for such a warm reception to this story. I'm so glad that people are liking it - things are only getting sweeter from here :)
> 
> Enjoy!

As the sun descended on the horizon out at sea, it was snowing all over Tadfield. Aziraphale stood by his office window, having just finished a sweet cup of cocoa that he’d made to soothe his stress. He gazed out into the distance, watching the final rays of sun ripple across the water as the afternoon faded into the evening. He sighed, thinking about his morning. He really had rather lost himself with Gabriel. Usually, he was good at keeping his temper under control - but he had no time for that sort of underhandedness, particularly not when it would start to have a negative effect on others. Come to think of it, he was getting rather irritated with the negative effect that it was having on his own mood, too. Aziraphale had not always known how to put his foot down: after the end of his last relationship, he had worked hard to learn, and deep down he knew that he should feel rather proud of the way he’d stood up for himself earlier on that day.

Over the years, he had come to realise that some of his student volunteers needed the drive. It saved those who stayed on campus from being alone at Christmas. They would be heartbroken if it were to fall through. Not to mention the charities the drive supported! Many of them would feel the loss intensely if the big fundraiser couldn’t go ahead. Aziraphale furrowed his brow as he asked himself: what on Earth was it that so possessed that man to interfere with this project? 

He had a sneaking suspicion that Gabriel might simply be too insecure to accept when he was wrong. Aziraphale knew what it was like to want to establish yourself in a new job, show everyone you know what you’re doing; he was a lecturer for goodness’ sake, that was the story of his whole career! But by God, were there better ways to do it than by stepping on everyone around you who happened to do something good. Yes: he was glad he’d taken Gabriel to task over his inconsiderate behaviour. The sooner in his career that the man learned how to work with his colleagues rather than against them, the better things would be for everyone.

Aziraphale watched as countless snowflakes danced on the breeze; he followed one with his eyes until it came to land on his windowsill, delicate and beautiful.

 _What on Earth am I going to do now?_ He thought to himself, wracking his brain for an answer.

Before he had the chance to spiral into his latest stress of the day, there was a gentle rapping at his door. He turned, expecting to see Tracy stood waiting with his coat.

It wasn’t Tracy at all.

* * *

Crowley had been thinking about how he might help Aziraphale save the fundraiser all day. He’d only made small amounts of progress, but it was progress nonetheless. As the clock had hit four and the building had started to empty, he had taken a pause from his plotting to stretch his legs. Walking out of his office and wandering around the deserted lab, he realised that he’d never been at work this late by choice: it really was quite peaceful without students rushing around the place.

 _This must be why Aziraphale does it_ , he’d thought.

Aziraphale. The man who would be, right now, sat in his office up in that little tower. The man who had faced down the head of finance earlier that day. The man with nobody to go home to, who was probably even more stressed about the prospect of losing the drive than Crowley was.

Without hesitation, he’d pulled on his coat and set off up the hill. Seemingly entranced by his need to check in on Aziraphale, he’d not stopped walking until he was at the other man’s office door.

And now, here he was.

  
  


Aziraphale’s eyes widened; under the warm filament light in his office, they shone.

‘Crowley!’

‘Hi Aziraphale.’

Aziraphale gazed across at Crowley, wondering how the man had managed to arrive at the exact moment when he really needed some company. Crowley was leant on the doorframe, shrouded in his black, snow-dusted winter coat. His boots had flecks of grit salt on the toe caps and the hems of his jeans were wet where they’d brushed through the snow piles. Those dark sunglasses sat on his face: Aziraphale scorned the infernal things for stopping him from seeing Crowley’s eyes.

He realised with a start that he’d been staring at his visitor for too long. His cheeks heated as he placed down his empty mug and stepped around his desk.

‘Please, dear boy, come in! Come in. Hang your coat if you like.’

Crowley, who had been near squirming under Aziraphale’s mellow gaze, almost sighed with relief as he stepped into the warm room. As he slipped off his coat, he realised that there was an honest to god fire crackling in the traditional hearth. Aziraphale smiled when he saw what Crowley was looking at.

‘Ah, yes. The fire. A little perk that one gets as a result of being up in one of the original towers!’ Aziraphale smiled as if he were proud of himself and gave a little wiggle of glee.

‘Do sit, get cosy!’ Aziraphale paused, unsure if his next question might attribute too much intent to Crowley’s presence. Still, he couldn’t stop himself from asking. 

‘Did you walk all the way up here in this weather, or were you already about?’

He turned to his kettle, praying that he hadn’t sounded too hopeful.

Crowley answered honestly as he seated himself in one of Aziraphale’s comfortable armchairs by the fire.

‘Walked up. Wanted to talk to you.’

Aziraphale turned to face him.

‘Oh Crowley, you needn’t have done that, the weather is-’ Aziraphale paused. If he wanted Crowley to visit, he was going to have to make sure that the man knew he was welcome. ‘I am glad to see you. Very glad indeed.’

A companionable silence fell as Crowley got warm and Aziraphale set about heating some water. Soon enough, the kettle boiled.

‘Hot drink?’

Crowley nodded. ‘Black coffee?’

Aziraphale tried unsuccessfully to conceal the wrinkle of his nose.

‘Of course. I only have instant granules, if that’s alright?’

‘That’s fine.’ Crowley spoke through a grin. The fussy little man was really quite adorable when he turned his nose up like that.

As Aziraphale made their drinks, Crowley surveyed the room. The walls were lined with cases of beautiful books, floor to ceiling. Every surface was piled with them: books of every genre, from all sorts of time periods. Everything from old clothbound novels to paperback reference books. A good number of them looked extremely well loved, post it notes sticking out of the pages and spines cracked. Others were tucked away on high shelves, the sort that literary expert ‘Dr. Fell’ probably handled with immense care. The whole room was undeniably enchanting.

Soon enough, Aziraphale toddled over, holding two mugs. He placed his own on a mat and then held the other out to Crowley. Crowley leant up: as he went to take the drink, his fingers brushed against Aziraphale’s hand.

Aziraphale felt ever so slightly light headed. Crowley’s skin was against his own for what felt like an age, but what was in reality only a moment. Crowley’s whole body fought off a shiver as Aziraphale withdrew his warm hand from the mug, their fingers sliding against one another for just a couple of seconds.

Aziraphale quickly settled himself in his own armchair before his legs had time to give way. He spoke as Crowley took a sip.

‘Have you heard about the trouble we’re having with the venue?’

Ah. The tricky part. Crowley now had to pretend he hadn’t witnessed the conversation with his own eyes. Luckily, Aziraphale’s dressing down of Gabriel had become a hot topic on campus as soon as it had happened, so it wouldn’t be too hard.

‘Yes. Yes I have. Can I just say, I think that’s such a twatty thing to do. What a twat.’

Aziraphale froze, the colour draining from his face. He looked down, swallowing a lump that formed in his throat.

‘I was rather rude to him, wasn’t I? Perhaps I should apologise.’

Crowley lifted his head and stared at Aziraphale, aghast.

‘No! Aziraphale, not you! I’m talking about him, whatshisface. The other one, not you!’

Aziraphale lifted his head, relief flooding through his whole body.

 _Stop assuming the worst_ , he thought to himself. _Not everybody will treat you in the ways that the worst people you’ve ever known have treated you._

He smiled, then. 

‘Oh. No apology, then?’

Crowley looked scandalised by the mere prospect, and Aziraphale laughed.

‘Noted, noted!’

‘It better be,’ Crowley nodded fiercely. ‘I’ve heard you were quite the whirlwind, apparently the man looked terrified!’

‘Well... he really bloody wound me up!’ Aziraphale blushed. 

Crowley just looked at Aziraphale for a moment, and then the two of them burst into laughter.

When they could talk again, Crowley looked across at Aziraphale. He looked more than merely attractive like this, lit up by the warm glow of the fire, lips parted in a smile, cheeks flushed with amusement. He looked captivating. Crowley spoke, teasing Aziraphale gently.

‘You certainly caught a few eyes. Apparently, you’re today’s it guy amongst both the staff and students. Expect a few admirer’s letters, maybe a bit more ogling than usual in your coming lectures.’

Aziraphale rolled his eyes good-naturedly.

‘Oh behave. It’s hardly attractive to lose one’s temper!’

Crowley very, very much begged to differ.

‘Don’t say you weren’t warned!’

The two of them laughed again, Aziraphale outright blushing now.

There was a moment of heavy quiet, until Aziraphale spoke softly.

‘Crowley, what am I going to do?’

Crowley paused, and then he sat forward in his seat.

‘I’ll tell you what we’re going to do. We’re going to find a new venue - a better one. We’re going to throw an incredible fundraiser. We’re going to put on an event that’s so fantastic, the finance department will never question you ever again. Does that sound alright?’

Aziraphale looked across at Crowley, feeling as if all the air had just been knocked out of his lungs. This wonderful, beautiful man.

  
  
  


‘Yes. Yes, that sounds tickety-boo.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is ready and waiting - it's the longest yet by far, and I'm so excited to share it!
> 
> @sapphiclemons (twitter), the wonderful beta reader for this fic, wrote a super sweet 100 word drabble of A&C cuddling. Please do read it if you need a smile (sapphiclemon on here)!
> 
> Thank you for all of the lovely comments. I do love reading and engaging with them. 
> 
> See you soon for a particularly exciting chapter!


	6. A Trip into Town

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all,
> 
> Thanks again for engaging with this story. It remains immensely fun to write, and I'm thoroughly loving people's reactions.
> 
> More updates scheduled between now and Christmas Day - until then, I hope you enjoy some festive fun!

Aziraphale and Crowley were walking down the hill into the heart of Tadfield. 

They were tailing a group of student volunteers and the University of Tadfield choir, who were all heading to the local shopping centre to raise some funds with a spot of festive carol singing. After all: whilst Aziraphale and Crowley searched for a solution to the venue problem they were now facing, the project's standard daily fundraising activities still had to go on. Spirits were undeniably high, and with the way Aziraphale was smiling as he pointed out every Christmas tree and snowman they passed, Crowley almost felt festive himself.

‘Go on then Crowley, what’s your favourite Christmas song?’

Crowley baulked at the audacity of the question.

‘Christmas songs are a crime against any sane human being’s ears, Aziraphale!’

Aziraphale’s mouth dropped open and he turned to Crowley, aghast. 

‘That’s patently untrue! Take it back!’

Crowley shook his head, doubling down.

‘Not a chance. Every last one of them is nonsense and I won’t be pressured into pretending otherwise.’

Aziraphale pouted, feigning a sulk. 

‘Well the morning is going to be extremely trying for you then, isn’t it! A good few hours of Christmas carols at the shopping centre. The choir really is wonderful though.’ Aziraphale smiled, his excitement for hearing them perform clear. ‘Let’s make a deal. If you haven’t heard a single song you like by the time they’re done, I owe you.’

Crowley’s interest was thoroughly piqued, and he smirked as he responded.

‘Owe me what?’

They crossed the road and headed into the centre through a set of sliding glass doors. Aziraphale’s reply was distracted, flippant, teasing. It came so naturally.

‘Oh, I don’t know - a spot of lunch, maybe?’

Crowley’s lower jaw threatened to drop, and he fell a couple of steps behind the blond in his amazement. His reply came just as naturally as Aziraphale’s challenge.

‘Deal. You’re one-hundred percent on!’

* * *

The choir really was wonderful. 

Truth be told, as Crowley stood with Aziraphale, listening to them sing and getting to know his colleague all the better, he did hear a few tunes that weren’t too bad. But there was no way in hell that he was going to admit that to Aziraphale.

‘Go on then, what’s _your_ favourite Christmas song?’

Aziraphale, surprised by the question, thought hard. 

‘Oh, well, that depends! Carols are so beautiful and I do quite adore the tradition that comes along with them, but there’s also much to be said for some of the more modern Christmas music!’

‘Alright well give me some examples then!’

‘I’d have to put _Silent Night_ on the list, and of course _In The Bleak Midwinter_ ,’ he bit his lip softly as he thought a little harder, and Crowley nearly saw stars. ‘I also adore Elvis’ _Blue Christmas_ and Brenda Lee’s _Rockin’ Around The Christmas Tree_! Oh and _Walking In The Air_ , the vocals are so beautiful on that song!’

Crowley had wanted to tease, but Aziraphale was so genuine that he felt his eyes glaze over a little. He’d never met someone who had given him a positive impression of what ‘the spirit of Christmas’ might entail, but Aziraphale had swept into his life and seemed to be changing that by the moment.

‘No _Santa Baby_ on your playlist then?’

Aziraphale almost startled. This was becoming a pattern. Just when he felt as if he’d tamed his rapidly growing attraction to Crowley, the man went and threw a curveball like referencing the most seductive Christmas song of all time. Aziraphale bit the inside of his cheek and willed himself not to think about Crowley playing that song for him.

‘There aren’t many Christmas songs I dislike. Ms Kitt’s offering is as good as all the rest.’

Aziraphale felt his cheeks burning and could’ve sworn he saw Crowley smirking out of the corner of his eye. He didn’t know if he wanted to kick him or kiss him. Perhaps both.

After a while, Aziraphale was starting to get more than a little hungry. He’d just finished his fourth conversation with an elderly member of the local community about how sweet the students were and how wonderful the project was. Though he truly did adore all of the love he could feel in the air, he was quite afraid that the rumbling of his stomach would drown out the choir if he didn’t acquire a snack soon.

He leant over to Crowley, whispering conspiratorially. 

‘I’m starting to get a bit peckish. Do you want anything?’

Crowley turned to face Aziraphale.

‘I was just about to go and grab a coffee. I can pick something up for you, if you’d like?’

Aziraphale tried not to think about how easily Crowley seemed ready to help him every time he needed something.

‘Oh, dear boy! Don’t trouble yourself-’

‘No trouble at all. Back in five.’

And with that, Crowley was sauntering off, leaving Aziraphale swooning in his wake.

* * *

Crowley hadn’t spent much time in Tadfield Town itself. He sometimes passed through on his way to and from work, but he never stopped. On the weekends, he preferred to go on trips further afield; since his commute to work was so short, he didn’t get to drive his beloved car as often as he used to - so he used trips to other towns as an excuse. Tadfield was beautiful: with it being on the coast, he could drive for miles along roads that followed the edge of the land and gave stunning views out to sea. He’d not admit it, but he was still finding his feet when it came to his new home, new job, and new people. Sometimes it helped to just drive somewhere quiet, sit on a grassy bank, and watch the waves lap against the shore. 

As he headed to the coffee shop that his maps app was pointing him towards, he looked around and took in some of the town’s details. It really was quaint, with old Tudor style buildings that leant over the cobbled streets and had a particularly wonky sort of charm about them. 

_No wonder Aziraphale loves it here_ , he thought. Then he paused. Even the bloody buildings were making him think about Aziraphale now. Fantastic.

He came to the market square and the sight that met him made him draw to a stop. The town’s Christmas markets were just opening for the day. He could see, hear, and smell a conglomeration of festive treats, and he had to force himself to keep walking lest he admit to the pang of genuine festive spirit that sprung in his chest. A stall selling bottles of Yule-themed alcohol managed to catch his eye as he passed, but he pushed on until he got to the independent coffee joint that he’d thought was most likely to cater to Aziraphale tastes.

_Did you really just walk past at least three coffee shops just to get to one that would please Aziraphale?_

He didn’t have time to think about it too hard: the friendly worker behind the counter was soon asking for his order.

Not long after, he was winding his way through the maze of streets back to Aziraphale, hot drinks and pastries in tow.

* * *

‘You went all the way to Dafna’s?!’ 

Aziraphale was utterly amazed as Crowley handed off the sweet treats. Crowley shrugged, successfully feigning nonchalance.

‘Looked high quality, had good reviews. Can’t be doing with a subpar coffee when I’m paying for it.’

Aziraphale smiled as he unwrapped a warm raspberry crown.

‘They do have the highest quality foodstuffs in town. Thank you ever so much, Crowley, I shall enjoy this immensely.’

‘Don’t mention it. I was going anyway.’

It was only half a lie. Alright, maybe two-thirds.

‘Even so. I do so love their crown pastries!’

With that, Aziraphale took a bite, and Crowley could only watch as the man’s eyes closed, rolling back in his head as he gave a repressed moan of satisfaction.

‘Oh… _Crowley_. It’s heavenly.’

Aziraphale was gone on the pastry, and Crowley was gone on him.

* * *

After a fruitful morning of fundraising, the group traipsed back up the hill. Crowley had his hands tucked in his pockets for warmth, whilst Aziraphale held his own together behind his back. Crowley was astonished by this: how was Aziraphale not freezing cold? The man seemed to be perpetually radiating warmth and it only made Crowley want to draw closer. As they walked steadily together, Crowley kept thinking about the markets: the wafting smell of fir tree scented candles followed them up the hill, and in the end, he began to think aloud.

‘Those markets. Massive.’

Aziraphale nodded. ‘Some of the best rural Christmas markets in the country. They’re quite marvellous!’

‘Bet there’s a stall in there we could borrow for a little while. Raise some funds.’

Aziraphale turned to face Crowley. ‘Do you think? We’ve never looked into it. Well, we did, but it costs far too much to rent a stall.’

‘I’m sure there’s a vendor who would take a night off, especially in the name of charity. You might not need to pay.’

There was a short moment of silence between them as Aziraphale thought about this.

‘Perhaps. I don’t know if I have the time to pop there during the day and ask around.’

Crowley shrugged. ‘Just a thought. If you’re going down at any point, could be worth a try.’ He paused, then remembered something important. ‘They had a nice looking alcohol stall, make sure you stop by if you do go.’

‘Oh, I go every year!’ Aziraphale replied, enthused. ‘It’s lovely, they sell the most delicious honey flavoured rum.’

‘Alright, don’t rub it in! I couldn’t try anything, I’m on the clock.’

‘Well you simply must try it! Aren’t you planning on visiting the markets? You can’t possibly miss them, they’re one of the highlights of Tadfield’s annual calendar!’

‘Me? Nah. No, I won’t be going. Too busy. Too noisy. Too…’

‘Festive?’ Aziraphale raised an eyebrow.

‘Mmm.’ 

‘Well. I simply won’t have it. You’re new in town, Crowley! It won’t do to be holed up alone at Christmas and not even give the place a chance. We must go together!’

Aziraphale smiled, looking inordinately pleased with himself.

‘What?’ Crowley questioned incredulously.

‘They’re so beautiful when all of the lights are on and the brass band is playing.’ There was something of a blissed out twinkle in Aziraphale’s eyes. He allowed himself a moment to daydream, then continued speaking.

‘They’re not nearly as busy during the week as they are at the weekend. I’m not a huge fan of crowds myself, but there’s nothing to worry about on that front if you go on, say, a Monday or a Tuesday.’

Crowley groaned slightly, his reluctance to enjoy Christmas battling it out with his desire to spend time with Aziraphale. The keen little sod persisted and was still pushing the point when they arrived outside the life sciences building.

‘What are you doing tonight? If you’re not busy, come and have a look around with me. We can scout out a stall to borrow. If you really do hate it, you’re free to leave whenever you please.’ 

There was a pause, and Crowley saw how Aziraphale’s eyes were glimmering with hope as he tried his best to convince him. An impish look crossed Aziraphale’s face, and he decided to try one last temptation. 

‘I’ll buy you a drink?’

Well. How was Crowley supposed to say no to that? He rolled his eyes and finally agreed.

‘Fine. You know where my office is?’

Aziraphale nodded, before remembering that he had no reason to know. A blush sprung on his upper cheeks. 

‘I mean, I can find it.’

‘Meet me there at five. Then we’ll go.’

Crowley turned, heading inside the building.

Aziraphale’s heart was beating ten to the dozen as he called after Crowley.

‘Excellent! I look forward to it!’

Without turning around, Crowley gave a wave of acknowledgment before disappearing through the doors.

Aziraphale could barely contain his excitement; he walked up the rest of the hill with a spring in his step.

* * *

Aziraphale was giving himself the world’s least self-assured pep talk when the clock got to five minutes away from five. He had walked down in the snow to meet him and was now standing outside Crowley’s offices, teeth worrying at his lower lip, pacing.

_Just knock and go in. He came to your office the other day and that was just fine. He’s expecting you!_

He steeled himself, stepping up to the door. 

_Stay relaxed. Don’t say anything bizarre. Do_ _not_ _be embarrassing._

Aziraphale’s nerves were writhing around inside of him, mixing with his raw excitement. Before he could back off again, he rapped his knuckles on the door and, after waiting a moment, cracked it open.

The ceiling lights were out, but the light from the moon was shining into the labs through huge, vista style windows and making the spotless, metal lab surfaces gleam silver. Aziraphale noticed that the view from these rooms looked inland, across the town and over to the rolling hills beyond. It was the perfect vantage point from which to see the beautiful coastal landscape, and Aziraphale was awed by the thought of how much light must shine into Crowley’s space during the day.

‘Crowley?’

No answer came, so Aziraphale stepped into the vast room, closing the door behind him. Whilst the main lab space was vacant, he spotted a number of doors leading to rooms that were positioned off the central workspace, so he headed for the first one with an open door. Peering in, he saw that it wasn’t much more than a store cupboard and so he walked on to the next. 

When he reached the doorway, a soft gasp escaped his lips. This room was not a storage space. It was a greenhouse, alive with beautiful flowers and ferns. Mesmerised, Aziraphale couldn’t help but step into the space, his eyes adjusting to the darkness and attuning to the way the moonlight shone on waxy leaves. He walked slowly, taking in the sight of all of the lush greenery he was surrounded by. He could hear the trickle of a water source, and his sense of smell was overcome by the aroma of fresh herbage and sweet, alluring flora. He turned about, admiring the dense jungle of perfectly kept blooms.

There must’ve been a hundred species, all grouped by their ideal conditions for growth. The work that must go into this. The care, tending to their every need. The hard graft, digging and cutting and taming and trimming. Aziraphale was quite blown away by it all. He breathed in, filling his lungs with the fruits of Crowley’s labour. This room was a product of patience; nurture; love. He was starting to feel as if he were getting closer to unravelling the mystery that was Anthony Crowley; as he did so, he found that he was beginning to quite passionately adore him.

‘Aziraphale?’

The soft voice only startled Aziraphale for a second, until he turned around to see Crowley standing in the doorway. His tall frame was silhouetted by the glowing lights that were now on in the main lab, and Aziraphale let out another short, almost imperceptible gasp. He had spent most of his day with Crowley, but there was something different about this moment. Seeing him here, after hours, in his private space. It felt intimate. His red hair was perfectly messed, and he’d not yet put on his coat; Aziraphale’s eyes skimmed over the way his black shirt sat taut against his lean waist, his top button was undone, revealing a tantalising patch of his chest. His shirtsleeves were rolled up a quarter, and his wrists looked like art, so elegant. So easy for Aziraphale to wrap his own hands around and pin-

‘Aziraphale?’ 

Crowley drew it out this time, making sure that he caught Aziraphale’s full attention. Aziraphale just about dragged himself back to a state of composure.

‘Crowley! I was just,’ Aziraphale looked across at him wistfully. ‘Looking for you.’

  
  


Crowley had heard someone moving around in his labs and, having checked the time, had assumed it was Aziraphale. He’d not quite been prepared for the sight of the angelic man standing in the middle of his planting room, gazing up at his prize winning palm as if it were a Monet hanging in the Louvre. 

‘Well, you found me. You found this lot first though,’ he gestured to the room. ‘Most well-behaved plants in all the lands, these.’

Aziraphale chuckled. ‘They are lovely, Crowley. Really extraordinary.’

Crowley tried not to blush, whirling around and pointing at a small, red plant sitting near the door.

‘Look! Poinsettia. Was thinking we could smarten up a few of these, sell them for the drive.’

Holy Mother of God, Aziraphale couldn’t handle this man. He was swooning internally as he responded.

‘It’s gorgeous. People would love that, it’s an excellent idea.’

Crowley turned back to face him, and for the first time since they’d met, he was giving Aziraphale a wide, open, honest smile. 

They both held eye contact for a moment, each too enamoured with the other’s radiance to quite know what to say. Eventually, Crowley spoke.

‘Right. We’ll do it then. You ready to go?’

Aziraphale nodded.

Crowley locked up behind the two of them, grabbing his coat and scarf on the way out. They set off towards the markets. Snow crunched under their feet and Christmas lights twinkled around them as they made their way down through the campus in the cold night air.

* * *

They took a similar path through the town that Crowley had taken earlier that day, the walk passing quickly as they discussed logistics for the fundraiser. Aziraphale mentioned that he was still searching for a venue for the big event, and the two of them were bouncing ideas around as they emerged into the square. Crowley fell silent and his eyes widened as he took in what he saw.

It was wondrous. It had been beautiful during the day, of course. But now, the market was shining like a beacon of light against the backdrop of the cold winter evening. Warm rays glowed from the stalls, beckoning the two of them closer. The mellow drone of a brass band playing gentle carols soothed his usual restlessness. He turned and saw Aziraphale’s rosy nose and cheeks peeking over the top of the tartan scarf he was bundled up in. The man’s pupils were blown, his eyes so bright that Crowley felt his heart swell. Immediately, he knew that accepting Aziraphale’s invitation had been the right decision.

Aziraphale, just like every year, was overcome by the sheer feeling of love that glowed around the square during the holiday season. Locals selling homemade goods, friends sharing a laugh with hands clasped around warm mugs of mulled wine, couples walking arm in arm. His own hand twitched as he yearned to take Crowley by the hand and show him all of the best stalls. There was one he thought he’d love, but he fought the urge to drag his friend into the warmth and glow. He’d promised himself that he’d allow Crowley to take his time, and so do that he would. With great restraint, he waited: if he daydreamed about holding Crowley’s hand in the meantime, he could hardly be blamed for doing so.

He turned to look at Crowley, and the sight that met him took his breath away. His lips were parted as he took in the sights, breath turning to steam as it escaped his mouth. His sunglasses were on. They were always on when the two of them had a moment to themselves. Aziraphale wondered why, and deeply longed to see more of the man’s beautiful golden eyes. But he was a gentleman, and his respect for Crowley most certainly prevailed. There had to be a reason he wore them, so Aziraphale would simply have to appreciate the way they sat on the bridge of Crowley’s nose, highlighting the sharp edges of his cheekbones.

‘I’m bloody cold.’ 

Aziraphale was once again brought back to planet Earth by the sound of Crowley’s voice.

‘First thing’s first then. Let’s start with that drink I promised you.’

* * *

Two mulled wines, an Irish coffee, and multiple sample shots each later, the two of them had covered a good portion of the market. Crowley had ordered some bottles of limited edition alcohol to be delivered to his house, and Aziraphale had sampled every cheese available to him. Both of them were having an extremely pleasant evening indeed.

They rounded a corner, laughing about something inconsequential when Aziraphale spotted the stall that he so desperately wanted to show to Crowley. He stopped in his tracks, pulling Crowley to a halt with a gentle hand on the arm.

‘Crowley, I need to show you this!’

Aziraphale led him to the stall, only realising that his hand was on Crowley’s elbow when they got to the stall. Crowley followed happily, having been acutely aware of it from the moment Aziraphale’s glove had landed on his sleeve. He felt the loss as soon as his companion withdrew his touch. Aziraphale’s arm felt like jelly, the thrill of contact, even through their layers, making him flush.

Turning to the stall, Crowley's wonder only grew. Set out on display were a huge array of beautiful, handcrafted plant pots. Some with intricate details carved into the sides, some with ornate bases, some simple and classic. Every single one imbued with the same kind of love that he funnelled into his plants every day.

‘Aziraphale…’ his voice was barely more than a whisper as he looked on with awe. ‘They’re beautiful.’

Crowley was gone on the homemade pottery, and Aziraphale was gone on him.

* * *

It took Crowley a while to decide what to buy. 

Aziraphale would’ve given him all the time in the world to choose, but eventually, he settled on some modest pieces, paid, and gave his delivery details to the stall owner. Having gone to acquire more drinks for the two of them, Aziraphale returned just as Crowley finished up. 

‘Which ones did you choose?’

Crowley pointed them out, and Aziraphale nodded. 

‘Those are lovely. Here.’ He held out another steaming mug of mulled wine for Crowley, who took it gratefully. 

They walked. Having been there for a few hours, the evening crowd was at its peak: Aziraphale turned to Crowley.

‘It’s getting rather busy now. Shall we find someplace quieter to finish these before we part?’

Before Aziraphale had finished his sentence, Crowley was nodding. Aziraphale, who was much more familiar with Tadfield than Crowley, led the way.

‘Quite right. I know a spot.’

  
  


Soon enough, they were sat by the frozen lake in Tadfield Park, sipping their rapidly cooling mugs of wine and appreciating the peace after an evening full of excitement. There were beautiful garlands wrapped around the park fences; strings of filament light bulbs were hung between lampposts, casting a rich warmth out into the chill. It was utterly serene and they basked in it together.

After a while, Aziraphale’s curious mind got the better of him.

‘Ecology.’

Crowley turned. Though they were both endeavouring to keep it in check, each of them was well into ‘tipsy’ territory.

‘Wha’ about it?’

‘Why ecology?’

Crowley paused.

‘Can you repeat that please?’

Aziraphale did, slowing down his words.

‘Why did you choose to go into the field of ecology?’

A moment of pensive silence, then Crowley answered.

‘Don’t understand the question.’

Finally, Aziraphale turned to look at him.

‘There must be a reason. I know why I chose litera- literary-,’ he took a breath, then tried again. ‘Books!’

Crowley gazed out across the lake, fixating on a bare tree that hung down over the bank on the other side. The tips of some of its branches would usually be skimming the water; tonight, instead, they were melded into the ice. It looked like a waterfall that was frozen in time.

‘Makes sense, doesnit.’

Aziraphale’s face crumpled as he tried to get on board with what Crowley was saying.

‘I’m not following.’

Crowley sighed, taking a mouthful of wine.

‘Right. Well, when you think about a plant. A tree. A bush. Whatever, s’not the important bit. When you think about a plant, you think about green. Petals, roots, water, sunlight, all that jazz.’

Aziraphale nodded along. That list was indeed reflective of the extent of his plant knowledge.

‘But it’s not just that. It’s all that, and then it’s winter. Bare branches. Wilting. Out of season. Can’t grow. Until Spring, and then it starts again. Makes sense, the way they can’t always be in full bloom. Makes sense that they all need different things to be able to grow. Makes sense, it’s simple. Straightforward. They’re honest about it. People aren’t always honest about what they need.’

Aziraphale was watching him now. Listening intently.

‘It’s refreshing. They grow, they make oxygen. They sustain everything, really. Give life to all this,’ he gestured around them with a hand, ‘to us, me and you. Not just me and you. Everyone.’

He sipped his wine again.

‘I like that. They’re so important, givin’ us air every day. And so beautiful. But they don’t make a big deal out of it or nothin’.’ He cocked his head. ‘Science always made more sense to me than words and all that stuff you’re into. Science is cycles, logic, puzzles. Words are so… human.’

Following Crowley’s eye line, Aziraphale studied the tree across the lake. He allowed Crowley’s words to sink in. The man loved his work. He loved it with the same kind of passion that Aziraphale had for his own job. Nature made sense to Crowley in the way that stories made sense to Aziraphale.

‘Nature is beautiful. Science was always too complicated for me-’

Crowley tutted. ‘Simple, science is simple!’

‘For you, yes. Not for me. The theories I’m alright with. The details,’ Aziraphale breathed in, re-centring himself. He gave a tiny hiccup. ‘Some of the details are beyond my reach. Stories make sense. They’re what we want.’

It was Crowley’s turn to be curious.

‘What we _want_? Is that why you’re a book master? Doctor of books? Expert?’

‘I suppose. I just think, deep down, we all need a little adventure of our own kind. Escape. We need to see the underdog win! We need to see,’ Aziraphale paused, thinking hard, his eyes narrowing as he searched for the word. They widened again when he found it. ‘Magic! We need drama, adoration, and a little bit of magic.’

Crowley watched the reflection of the twinkling lights dance in Aziraphale’s eyes as he spoke. 

‘Even tra- tragedies. We write them because we feel them. Every story makes sense because it comes from something in here.’ He patted his chest gently, and Crowley wished he could do the same with his own hand. ‘Stories are about living. Love.’ 

There was a silence that stretched between the two of them. Aziraphale’s voice was soft when he spoke again. 

‘We all need a little bit of love.’

Crowley wanted to kiss him.

The air sat heavily around them both, a cool winter fog descending. Despite the haze and the drinks, the two of them were acutely aware of one another. Crowley wanted to move closer. To thread his fingers through Aziraphales and hold his hand. Aziraphale wanted to reach out, place his palm over Crowleys, and keep him warm for all of Winter.

For now, for each of them, this was just enough. Side by side, drinking wine, each knowing the other better than before. Aziraphale finished his cup, downing the final drops.

‘Crowley?’

‘Yeah?’

‘Thank you.’

A silence.

‘For what?’

‘For being here.’

Feeling his pulse speed up, Crowley swallowed.

‘You promised a drink.’

‘Yes. Well. Not just for coming tonight. For helping me. With the project.’

‘Oh. Well. No problem.’

‘I’m being serious. You’ve no idea how much I needed it this year. I do appreciate your time, you know.’ 

A moment hung between them, and Crowley was almost purring for the gratitude Aziraphale was offering when the cherubic man spoke again.

‘Your work is beautiful, by the way. The things that you grow. They’re as stunning as all of the finest poetry I’ve ever read. Perhaps lovelier, in ways.’

Crowley’s heart was hammering. His cheeks were pink, and not just from the wine. 

Aziraphale felt giddy. He spent so much time in fear of going too fast: this time, he just wanted to be honest. The wine did help. His heart was in his throat; what would Crowley think of him and his gushing? Well, the man was still here, so it couldn’t be too bad.

Tilting his head back, Crowley finished off his drink. Aziraphale’s eyes traced the line of his neck as it was exposed, and a primitive part of his mind asked what it would be like to bury his face there, explore it with his mouth.

As was becoming tradition, Crowley brought him back down to Earth. This time, with a snowball.

It seemed to come at him in slow motion and Aziraphale gasped as it broke apart against his coat, tiny flecks spraying up and catching his face and neck, chilling him.

‘Crowley, you utter devil!’

Crowley just laughed, standing up and dodging around the bench as Aziraphale flicked a measly patch of snow back at him.

‘That all you’ve got?’ He challenged, and Aziraphale’s eyes zoned in on him.

‘Oh you are _so_ on, Anthony Crowley.’

Crowley made a note to himself to explore why the sound of Aziraphale using his Sunday name might make him feel quite so wobbly. Aziraphale stood, swiftly scooping up a sizeable clump of snow. Crowley did the same; he threw his second attempt, but Aziraphale leant out of the way in the nick of time. Aziraphale used tactics, waiting until Crowley was off his guard before hitting him square in the chest.

‘Hey!’

‘You have to pay attention, Crowley!’ Aziraphale smirked: Crowley’s insides blazed at the sight.

The two of them laughed, pelting snow at one another until they each got breathless. Crowley managed to catch Aziraphale out when the blond was preoccupied with appreciating the beauty of Crowley’s face whenever he broke into laughter. Aziraphale paid him back when Crowley spent a little too long thinking about the sight of Aziraphale bending over to pick up the snow. All in all, the scores were fairly even. 

Aziraphale just about scooted to the side when one of Crowley’s lesser shots came whizzing towards dangerous territory. Scandalised, he pointed an accusing finger at Crowley. 

‘You can’t aim that low! That’s a foul, you’re playing dirty as all hell! You might’ve had me on the floor with a shot like that!’

Crowley was cackling at Aziraphale, blushing all over. 

‘It was an accident, stop acting like I fired a bloody missile at your crotch you drama queen!’

Aziraphale smirked, holding back his laughter as he stalked over to Crowley. 

‘You know what we used to do to boys who played dirty when I was at school?’

The closer Aziraphale got, the more he spoke, the less Crowley found himself able to react. Until suddenly, Aziraphale was behind him, tugging out his collar and dropping fresh snow down into his shirt. He almost howled.

‘Aziraphale! Aziraphale no!’

He shouted through his tears of laughter, and the two of them wrestled until they fell to the ground, writhing around in the snow.

When they ran out of breath, the two of them paused, panting; Aziraphale was holding Crowley down playfully, their legs intertwined as Crowley tried to flip them over.

Suddenly, despite lying in the freezing snow, they both felt rather warm indeed.

Aziraphale’s mind went into overdrive.

_Say something. SAY SOMETHING!_

‘I win.’

He rolled off the top of Crowley, lying on his back and tidying up his bowtie. 

Crowley sat up, looking down at his friend. The two of them giggled, Aziraphale smartening himself up until you could hardly tell he’d just been in a wrestling match.

Flopping back into the snow, Crowley flapped his arms and legs. Aziraphale watched the spectacle.

‘What on _Earth_ are you doing?’

Crowley flapped and flailed until he finished his masterpiece. He stood, dragging Aziraphale with him. The two of them looked down at the shape he had left in the snow; Crowley pointed at it, pleased out of his mind.

‘Angel. Like you!’

Aziraphale’s eyes widened and shone, then the two of them laughed once more. Aziraphale took out his phone and got the best photo that he could of Crowley’s snow angel. After a moment of brushing themselves down, they finally began the walk home. 

  
If any of the locals claimed to have heard two drunk University Lecturers singing _The Twelve Days of Christmas_ out in the streets that night… well, none of them had any way of proving it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @sapphiclemons, your excellent beta-ing is the only Christmas Gift I need.
> 
> See you all soon with a new chapter!


	7. How to Construct a Wreath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all,
> 
> Alrighty! So the next few days will be rife with updates as we speed towards Christmas Day. 
> 
> I hope you're all well and still enjoying the story.
> 
> Thanks again for engaging - hope you enjoy the chapter.

The day was Friday, and it was the penultimate week of the University of Tadfield’s term. Aziraphale was making his way to the William of Tadfield building, where the Christmas Drive committee normally met. Only today, he wasn’t going for a meeting. He was going for something infinitely more exciting.

Since the trip to the markets, Crowley and Aziraphale had begun to meet socially rather often. Under the guise of ‘planning’ and ‘sorting out logistics’ they spent time together, spiralling into conversations about anything from the brain sizes of whales to which was the most grating piece of musical theatre. One evening, after a successful day's fundraising, they’d been talking over a surreptitious bottle of wine in Aziraphale’s office. Out of the blue, Crowley had casually proffered his most exciting money-making idea yet.

Wreath building classes.

From the moment the suggestion had come out of Crowley’s mouth, Aziraphale had wanted it to happen. More than wanted it: needed it to happen.

' _Oh_ , _Crowley, it’s such a fabulous idea! We must do it!’_ He’d said. ‘ _You could run them, couldn’t you? You’re ever so good with your greenery!’_

At this part Crowley had grumbled in protest, so Aziraphale had pulled out all the stops.

 _'The idea is perfect, it really is, but I know next to nothing about plants, let alone making things with them. You’re an expert, you know exactly what to do!_ ’

He’d widened his eyes, pleading. His eagerness was in no small part due to how utterly charming he found the thought of Crowley teaching the locals how to make stunning Christmas decorations. He could already see it in his mind’s eye: everyone laughing along, Crowley finally looking properly settled into his new home. 

Of the things Aziraphale had come to know about Crowley since they started working together, the fact that Crowley was not yet fully comfortable here was one that he had divined himself rather than been told outright. The man was so carefree when he felt relaxed; his prickliness came when he felt unsure, or distressed, or - the one that Aziraphale’s heart ache for him the most - lonely. 

Since the two of them had been spending time together more regularly, Aziraphale was delighted to note that Crowley had started smiling more and more. How wonderful it was, to be the man who put a smile on that face. Aziraphale only wished that he could be the one to alleviate all of Crowley’s worries.

Crowley had, after much persuading and the offering of a second I.O.U for lunch on Aziraphale, agreed to run the class.

* * *

Crowley watched as visiting locals piled into the room, pulling off scarves and gloves. There were small families, young couples, and groups of friends. They had sold out all of the tickets for this class, so Aziraphale had booked a larger room for the event. The place had been bedecked with garlands and festive banners, tables laid with wreath-making implements and complimentary snacks. His charges for the evening found places behind the makeshift workstations, chatting excitedly. 

As always seemed to be the way, he turned immediately to the door when Aziraphale walked in. The tiniest glimpse of blond in the corner of his eye was enough to pull his attention, and he forgot all of the anxieties he’d been having about mingling with the locals as he watched Aziraphale sweep in. Crowley watched him take off his tartan scarf and looked on with wonder as the man was immediately bombarded with greetings and approached by people who wanted to talk to him. Aziraphale met all of this with a genuine smile. He was endlessly patient, saying hello to every single person and crouching down to greet little ones who tugged on his coat or the side of his immaculately pressed trousers. Everybody knew him, it seemed, and everybody adored him.

Crowley adored him.

Aziraphale headed towards the front and settled everyone down, promising moments of his time to people later on in the evening. Crowley tried to feign busyness by rearranging things on his desk and shuffling sets of instructions, but when Aziraphale’s attention was focused elsewhere he found he could only watch him. The way the tips of the man's curls were still holding up some snowflakes, the beauty of his toothy smile, and the way he bent his head to listen to people, his face a picture of focus as he listened to whatever they had to say. There was a twinge of jealousy in Crowley’s chest as he saw Aziraphale’s glove land on the sleeve of his current conversational partner. Nothing unmanageable, of course. Only a twinge. 

_He’s only chatting to them. It’s not like he’s your boyfriend, stop being a tool!_

When the word _boyfriend_ crossed his mind, he felt a sharp blush spring on his cheeks. Oh, dear.

Just as Aziraphale was nearing the front, he was stopped by a young woman whose friends were looking on less than discreetly. The moment she smiled, Crowley knew that she was flirting. Aziraphale chatted to her amicably, and then his hand landed on the small of her back. 

Something incredibly fierce gave a twang in Crowley’s chest. Suddenly, with great vigour, Crowley found that he wanted Aziraphale very much to himself. He wasn’t sure what to make of that.

He was snapped out of his train of thought by a certain lavish voice, altogether closer to him than he was quite ready for. Aziraphale had come up around the desk and was leaning close to _whisper in his ear_. 

‘Poor girl keeps on trying. I’m not sure how I can make it any clearer to her that my interests lie… elsewhere.’

He sounded amused, and Crowley found himself entirely frozen as he heard the deep, rich tone that powered Aziraphale’s eloquent voice clearer than ever before. As the final word was spoken, Crowley could swear he felt Aziraphale’s warm breath skirt over his earlobe and dust across the side of his neck. His heart was utterly wrecked, thrumming like the wings of a hummingbird.

_Keep it together. Please, God, I don’t get in touch very often. Have mercy: help me survive this moment._

Crowley drew in a huge breath as subtly as he could, before turning to Aziraphale, who had now stepped away the slightest amount. Inside, he was begging that the tension he could sense between them was more than just his imagination running wild. Outside, he smirked at Aziraphale, meting out his response.

‘I’m sure there are a number of ways you could make it as clear as day.’

He tipped his head as means of an indicator; the gesture was imperceptible to anyone other than Aziraphale as a result of their proximity. Aziraphale turned to see what Crowley was talking about and met the gaze of the group of young women in question, who were watching Crowley and Aziraphale with great interest. 

Colour sprung on Aziraphale’s cheeks as it so often did when he spent time with Crowley. He batted the devilish man on the arm, reprimanding him playfully.

‘Don’t be such a bloody _torment_!’ He couldn’t hold back the smile, nor could he stop his eyes from twinkling with giddy delight. They had settled into a little subtle flirtation, but this was outright teasing! It was a good job that Aziraphale could give as good as he got. ‘You might consider yourself a voyeur, but I prefer my privacy.’

He smirked as he saw Crowley baulk, stepping up to the front of the stage. Just as he was about to speak, he heard the comment that Crowley made under his breath.

‘Right. I’ll bear that in mind.’

Oh, the _bastard_. Aziraphale wanted him so, so badly.

He grappled down the hot excitement that was bubbling inside of him and began to speak.

‘Hello everyone! Good evening!’

There was a chorus of greetings from the people gathered.

‘Thank you all so much for coming. It is lovely to see everyone as always. This event is a new one this year, courtesy of a wonderful friend and colleague who knows his way around plants like a regular Alan Titchmarsh!’

Laughter, but Crowley barely heard it over the sound of the word ‘wonderful’ echoing inside his head.

‘So, with that said, I will leave you in his capable hands and have a go at joining in. Crowley, over to you!’

Aziraphale jumped down off the raised dais that held the instructor’s desk, and Crowley suddenly found himself on his own in a sea of strangers. He looked out and scanned the room. Students were different - students came to learn and took it for granted that he was an expert. These people had, as of yet, no reason to think so or to afford him their precious time of day. For a moment, he couldn’t speak.

Then, his eyes came back and focused on the front of the room. Aziraphale had taken the only spare space on the first row, sharing the table with a rather small elderly lady. He was slipping his coat off, hanging it neatly over the back of his seat, and the lady looked phenomenally pleased to have some company.

As Aziraphale looked up at him with a concerned, encouraging smile, things fell into place in Crowley’s mind. He suddenly understood what everyone was really there for; the fun, the laughter, the community. The company, which some of them might not otherwise have. They had no reason to afford Crowley their time - but they had every one of them done it nonetheless. Something that was a potent mixture of joy and relief burst in his chest, and he smiled. 

_That’s what this room is full of_ , he thought. _Love_.

He took a breath and began to teach.

* * *

Aziraphale was having a fantastic time.

He was in his element, listening to the stories that Joanie, the lady with whom he was sharing a table, had to offer. She was an absolute riot, and all around him he could hear people having fun. This event had been an absolute success, and it wasn’t even over.

It would have been futile for Aziraphale to pretend that having an excuse to gaze intently at Crowley wasn’t adding to his enjoyment. There had been a moment, right at the start, when Aziraphale had thought the man was going to struggle. He’d been ready to hop back on stage and join Crowley; clearly, he’d pleaded with him to run the class when he simply wasn’t ready yet. Then, their gazes had met. Aziraphale had smiled, everything he could muster to say ' _y_ _ou can do this, you’re more than capable_ ’ without using any words. Crowley had broken into a smile, and they had been away. 

He was a natural, a fantastic teacher. Aziraphale, a man of words, was significantly lacking when it came to practical artistic abilities. Yet even he had managed to construct a basic wreath under Crowley’s expert instruction. Now that he had done the tricky part, Aziraphale was indulging himself as means of a reward. Crowley was walking around the room, helping people complete their circles of fir branches; Aziraphale snuck glances, looking at the way Crowley spun weaves of green with his agile hands and tied off pieces of string with his nimble fingers. A smile broke when he saw Crowley laugh with a group of tables, pure warmth flooding Aziraphale’s veins. 

Crowley was enjoying himself. It was the most beautiful Aziraphale had seen all evening.

Joanie tapped him on the arm, and he turned.

‘Young man, what’s distracting you?’

Aziraphale blushed slightly. ‘Nothing! Nothing, I’m listening. You were up to the part about giving John Lennon a piece of your mind-’

‘I was not! You stopped paying attention.’

Aziraphale gave a sheepish smile. ‘I apologise. There’s a couple of things playing on my mind.’

Joanie shuffled closer, lowering her voice. ‘One of them wouldn’t happen to be that handsome teacher man who you’ve been making eyes at all evening, would it?’

Aziraphale’s jaw dropped in shock, and he tried to feign affront. ‘Joanie! What on Earth are- Who could you be- I have no idea what you’re talking about!’ He turned away, trying and failing to hide his crimson cheeks.

‘Don’t bloody bother sweetheart, I’ve been around the block enough times to know exactly what’s going on in your little blond head.’

Aziraphale rolled his eyes, mortified and gratified all at once. ‘Shhh, please!’ He paused, before turning to face her. ‘Alright. Fine. I may have found myself in a bit of a,’ Aziraphale scrambled for the word. ‘Predicament, on that front.’

‘You fancy him.’

‘Joanie!’

‘What? There’s nothing wrong with fancying someone, I don’t know why you’re so bloody worried about it.’

Aziraphale huffed, petulant. ‘He might hear!’

Joanie stalled, then slowly placed the berries that she was threading onto her wreath down on the table. She turned to Aziraphale. ‘You are worried that that man,’ she gestured towards Crowley, ‘might overhear you admitting that you fancy him?’

Aziraphale nodded furiously. ‘So if you could please just talk a little quieter-’

It was Joanie’s turn to roll her eyes. ‘Your worry might be a little more understandable if it weren’t totally obvious that he fancies the cashmere pants off you!’ She tutted when he met her words with a speechless stare. ‘Honestly. Ninety years on God’s green Earth and I’ve never once met a man who wasn’t utterly oblivious.’ With that, she went on threading her berries. Aziraphale allowed the stereotyping to slide, mainly because he was busy going over what she had just said to him.

Crowley chose this moment to approach. 

‘Aziraphale! How is yours going?’

He sounded so… spirited. Joyous. Comfortable. Aziraphale could barely muster up a sentence.

‘My? How’s? Good! Good, it’s going well. Jolly well. Look! Circle!’

He pointed down at his circle of branches and saw Joanie holding back a laugh out of the corner of his eye.

_Circle? Circle? Well done old boy, very smooth indeed. Top-notch, ten points to team Fell._

Crowley smiled, picking up Aziraphale’s work and turning it about. He was gentle, reverent. Aziraphale wanted to shove everything off the table and push Crowley onto it. 

‘It’s gorgeous craftsmanship, Aziraphale. Really good. You’ve not put any decorations on it yet?’

‘Ah! No, I was just thinking about that. I’m not sure how to achieve what I want.’

Joanie chuckled, speaking quietly. ‘You can say that again!’

Aziraphale’s lips pressed into a line. ‘Crowley, this is Joanie. She was one of the Drive’s first patrons five years ago!’

Crowley turned to her. He could tell that she and Aziraphale were well acquainted, and ramped up the charm to try and impress. ‘A pleasure. I’m Crowley, new to the University this year.’

She smiled. ‘Nice to meet you, love. Aziraphale here has been telling me about you.’

Crowley raised an eyebrow, turning to Aziraphale who had busied himself by searching through the decorating instructions on the table.

Joanie carried on. ‘Isn’t he just a sweetheart - could’ve sat with anyone but came to keep me company.’ Aziraphale could hardly speak for his sudden nerves, feeling ever so slightly flayed open. Crowley was gazing at him, eyes clouded with admiration, and Joanie continued once more. ‘I’ll tell you a little secret. Sometimes he pops round to my house for a brew, knowing that I live alone and all. He always brings the most delicious meals, says to me that he needs to make sure I’m eating well. He’s quite the chef, Mr. Crowley, I’ll tell you that for nothing!’

Aziraphale looked over at her, full of begrudging love. He wanted to be put out by how obviously she was upselling him, but in truth, her words warmed his heart no end. Crowley was totally and utterly besotted: Aziraphale was clearly an angel.

‘Is he now? Well, that’s incredibly good to know.’ Crowley smiled, tipping his head so that his glasses sat further down his nose. Aziraphale looked at him, and lost his breath when he realised that Crowley was looking over his glasses: those beautiful golden eyes. Aziraphale felt seen, in a way he hadn’t for a long, long time. Something beautiful and private continued to blossom between them at that moment, as each held the honest gaze of the other.

 _These eyes are only for you_ , thought Crowley. _I’d not do this for just anybody._

Aziraphale felt the smile on his face.

 _When you look into my eyes like that,_ he thought, _I feel as if I might lift off the ground. I feel as if I’ve uncovered the most bewitching, shimmering treasure. I feel alive._

Crowley, still looking into Aziraphale’s eyes, gently pushed his glasses back up his nose.

‘One sec,’ he said. ‘I’ve got something for you.’

Aziraphale watched as he jumped up on the dais and rummaged through his coat pockets. Then, he came back, holding something out to Aziraphale. A piece of ribbon.

‘Crowley? What’s this?’

Crowley almost faltered. Was this too much? Was he going too fast? Oh well. If he was, then he would simply have to cherish the ride whilst it lasted.

‘For your wreath. I thought you might prefer something with a more personal touch.’

Aziraphale lifted the ribbon out of Crowley’s palm and gasped when he saw why it was special. It was decorated with his very own tartan, woven with incredible care and skill. The colours were perfect, matched entirely to his own bow tie that he always wore. 

‘Crowley… it’s-’ 

Aziraphale lost his words, stunned. He had, in the past, been mocked by those who professed to love him for wearing tartan accessories. This gesture, so small, felt like the world held in his hands.

Crowley spoke gently. ‘Do you know how to tie it into the right sort of bow?’

Aziraphale looked up at Crowley’s example at the front of the room but even if he had known how to replicate it, he doubted he’d have been able to do it right now. He tried, crossing the ends and folding pieces gently, furrowing his brow as he got it quite terribly wrong. Crowley watched for a while; when he saw Aziraphale floundering, he chuckled softly and stepped up to the other side of the table again. His hands came across and cupped around Aziraphale’s to still them. 

Aziraphale had no thoughts in his head. There was nothing he could think about except the feeling he got from having Crowley’s warm palms resting gently on his own hyper-active hands, calming them from their incessant worrying. His focus was centred around the way Crowley ever so softly pulled them apart, then proceeded to guide his fingers, showing him what to do. Aziraphale followed, moving on autopilot as he revelled in the soothing touch of Crowley’s skin against his own. He was often worrying and fidgeting his hands; those who knew him well were always willing to reach over and tame them, knowing it would help to ease his stress. His tying of the bow was still clumsy, and Crowley smiled every time he got it a little wrong, showing him how to correct it. Aziraphale was barely stopping himself from trembling, everything in him wanting to upturn his hands and hold onto Crowley, ground himself in the feeling of his touch. He felt as though he could be floating on air, with only the soft caress of this magnificent man keeping him anchored to the floor.

‘There. Perfect.’

Aziraphale felt the loss greatly when Crowley moved away. He looked down at his hands, which now held a beautiful Fell tartan bow.

‘You can just glue that on, top or bottom.’

‘Crowley, it’s fantastic. I don’t know how to thank you-’

‘Another lunch I can hold you to will do just fine,’ and he was smirking, and Aziraphale was in love with him.

 _Oh, fuck_ , thought Aziraphale _._ _I'm really rather in love with you_.

Aziraphale nodded, blissed out and feeling really rather warm.

There was a silence, and then Joanie brought them both down with a question.

‘Where’s the big concert this year? The invitations are usually out by now.’

Aziraphale turned to her, and he didn’t know what to say. Crowley stepped in, lowering his voice.

‘We’re actually having some trouble with that. With the venue.’

‘Trouble with the venue?’ She repeated, and the two of them nodded.

‘What?’ She continued, ‘as in you don’t have a venue?’

Aziraphale’s brow knitted again as he nodded once more. ‘We’ve been ever so slightly messed about by management, so the usual venue has fallen through. We’re hoping to secure another over the weekend.’

Joanie considered this for a moment, and then she spoke again. ‘Write this number down.’

Aziraphale and Crowley looked at one another, then both of them began scrambling for a pen. Joanie watched them for a moment; _gorgeous, lovely boys_ , she thought, _but they truly are juggling one tiny bit of sense between them_. She pushed Aziraphale’s pen, which was sat on the desk right between the two of them, towards Aziraphale.

‘Ah. There it is. Thank you.’ Said Aziraphale, sheepish once again. He uncapped it, grabbing a slip of paper. 

Joanie rattled off the number, then leant towards the two of them. ‘It might not come through, but it’s worth a try. Ring that number, and ask for Lorna. Tell her that you’re friends of mine. She may be able to get you a slot down at the village hall if that’s any good?’

Crowley and Aziraphale exchanged baffled looks, and Aziraphale spoke up. ‘Tadfield Village Hall is booked out, we checked-’

‘Just try it,' she said, giving him a look that said _stop worrying and give it a go_ ' 'It can’t hurt.’

He nodded, exhilarated. ‘Thank you so much, thank you!’ He turned back to Crowley, and the pair were beaming at one another. Joanie smiled fondly, before picking up her finished wreath and admiring it. 

Aziraphale stepped around the table and pulled Crowley aside, speaking with a tone of great urgency. ‘Crowley, this could sort everything out. I need to call them-’

‘Go!’ Interrupted Crowley, picking up Aziraphale’s coat and holding it up for him to slip his arms into. Aziraphale didn’t even care that he was blushing as he stepped into it, feeling how close he was to his friend. Crowley hooked his scarf around his neck from behind and patted his shoulders. ‘Let me know what happens!’

Aziraphale nodded, but as he was about to leave he turned. 'Oh, my wreath! I forgot about the wreath, it isn’t finished-’

‘I’ll finish it off for you. I’ll work some miracles of my own on it.’ Crowley paused; Aziraphale was looking at him with the widest eyes. ‘If you’d like?’

Aziraphale nodded without hesitation. ‘Please!’

Crowley beamed, and Aziraphale beamed back at him. The moment went on until Crowley laughed. ‘Go! Go go go!’

‘Right! Yes! Toodle-pip, speak soon!’

Crowley watched Aziraphale leave; he began to miss him as soon as the door closed behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @sapphiclemons (twitter), your beta work is much appreciated as always.
> 
> See everyone tomorrow for a new chapter. It's a biggie. :)


	8. Miracles Can Happen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a special one. I promise it's nice.
> 
> Hope everyone enjoys.

As more of December went by, the temperature began to drop until a thick blanket of snow constantly covered the whole of Tadfield. Despite the nip of the cold that sat on the breeze, the town only seemed to get brighter as the passing of the days brought it closer to Christmas. People smiled at one another, cards containing seasonal well wishes started to fall through letterboxes, and lights twinkled in almost every window in the town. Tadfield was a hub of goodwill to all.

Though he could feel the festive cheer that was enveloping the town, as Aziraphale paced in his office he had to face facts: he was finding it almost impossible to tamp down his stress. 

It was now the final week of term. Thus far, the Christmas Drive had been going better than it ever had. There had been the usual choir collections, supermarket bag packs, and gingerbread bake sales: engagement was higher than ever, so those had already garnered plenty of donations. And there was Crowley. Crowley, who screwed up his nose whenever he heard _Do They Know It’s Christmas_ , then turned around a moment later and blurted out some ingenious scheme that they could use to raise more money. He’d freshened up a whole forest of poinsettias which had sold like hot cakes when they borrowed a market stall for a weekend. That had been another of Crowley’s strokes of genius, and one which had raised a jaw-dropping amount of money. They were well on their way to doubling the amount raised in previous years thanks to that sale. Crowley’s wreath making class had gone down a treat: even Crowley himself had appeared to enjoy it. Everything had been going so well.

So why? Why did it all have to come crashing down now?

  
  


Over the weekend, Aziraphale had searched tirelessly for a suitable fundraiser venue. The news had not been good when he’d contacted the owner of the Village Hall but, refusing to give up hope, he’d stayed up all night researching and called around as soon as places opened. 

There was nowhere left.

He worried his hands again, feeling a pang in his chest. He knew it wasn’t his fault, he knew. But some part of him couldn’t help itself from claiming the blame for this letdown, hoarding it like a bitter crone and making him feel like a failure. How was he going to tell the students? How was he going to tell the _charities_? It didn’t bear thinking about, and he slumped into his chair, crumpling in a way that was entirely uncharacteristic for him.

There was nothing more he could do: the main event was cancelled. 

The Drive was now as good as over, and he could no longer hope that a miracle would provide them with a new venue. Later that day, he’d have to break the news to the volunteers. The coming days had been dedicated to preparing for the main event, and so it’s cancellation would make tonight their final meeting. It would probably make this the last University of Tadfield Christmas Drive altogether.

He felt a telltale sting in his nose, his lower lip giving a minute tremble.

_Sit up. Carry on. See it out with pride. If there are tears, they will be for all that we’ve achieved, not for men in suits who tear us down._

He looked across at the beautiful poinsettia, grown by Crowley’s tender hand, sitting on his desk and smiled to himself.

If it were all to end today, at least they’d made a good go of it.

* * *

_ <received: 10:23AM, sender: a.z.fell@utad.ac.uk> _

_Dear Crowley,_

_I hope you are keeping well. I’m afraid I’m E Mailing with some rather disheartening news, but I thought it best to tell you in advance of this evening’s committee meeting._

_The venue search bore no solutions. Believe me when I say that I exhausted every single resource I could find. There is nowhere that is free on or around the date we need._

_I will have to tell the team tonight. I can’t go on letting them be excited about the event when there’s no way to make it happen; it would be mightily unfair of me._

_With all that said, I must thank you. The skills and ideas that you brought to the project have been invaluable; your schemes raised sizeable amounts of funding, and have thus salvaged what will likely be the final Tadfield Christmas Drive. The local charities will still be able to make fantastic use of that money, and it is ultimately thanks to your suggestions that we have it._

_It would be remiss of me not to thank you for your companionship also. Of all the drives I have done since arriving at Tadfield, this one has been by far my favourite thanks to how much I have enjoyed your company. They often say that charity begins at home - I hope that this Christmas, you afford yourself some of the charity you have afforded to both the project and myself. You truly do deserve it._

_Please feel free to keep in touch when we are no longer working together._

_Thanks again,_

_Aziraphale._

  
  


Crowley was borderline hysterical. How could this be happening?

It couldn’t. It wasn’t possible, not after all he’d experienced over the last few weeks. He stood from his seat, heart pounding. He’d told Aziraphale that he was going to make the Drive incredible and he’d meant it. He knew that he should be distraught; the event was lost, Aziraphale had said so.

But there was something filed away at the back of his mind, and it was screaming at him. What had he missed? Why did he feel as if, in this crucial moment, he was being propelled towards a limitless sky rather than dragged down from the elevated state he’d been living in since he met Aziraphale?

He’d been looking for two weeks and hadn’t found anything even nearing a solution. He’d looked everywhere in the town, he’d even tried the towns over. Nothing had come to fruition.

What could he do to turn all of this around? There was something. There had to be something.

And then, like a stroke of the most breathtaking lightning, it hit him.

_Charity begins at home._

He’d looked absolutely everywhere for a venue. Except on his very own doorstep.

‘Oh, SHIT!’

He broke into a smile, running back to his computer. A torrent of relieved, joyous laughter poured out of his mouth, straight from the chest, as he typed out a reply to Aziraphale.

_ <to: a.z.fell@utad.ac.uk, sending from: a.j.crowley@utad.ac.uk> _

_Aziraphale_

_Meet me here at 4:30 -_

_University of Tadfield Botanical Gardens_

_Department of Life Sciences_

_Darwin Quarter_

_S1D R4T_

_Crowley_

He pressed send, watched it go, then sprinted out of the door.

* * *

  
  


When Aziraphale saw the message, he was confused. Why on Earth did Crowley want to meet? How on Earth had the University managed to hide an entire botanical garden from him for five years? Why hadn’t Crowley acknowledged anything he’d written in his email?

He was, of course, going to go. There was no way he’d miss it; it might be one of his last chances to see Crowley. When the new term started, they’d be under no obligation to spend time together. They were both busy men: even with the best intentions, they might simply lose touch. Not that Aziraphale would stop wanting to see Crowley, of course. Aziraphale sent a reply asking why Crowley wanted to meet, but he didn’t hear anything more. In the end, all he could do was twiddle his thumbs. For the rest of the day, half of his mind at most was in the room at any given moment. The other half was thinking about Crowley. And the way it had felt when he’d put his hands on Aziraphale’s and tamed the incessant racing of his mind in an instant.

* * *

At a quarter past four, Aziraphale left his office. According to his research, the gardens were tucked away around the back of Crowley’s building, which explained why he’d not come across them before. As he walked down the hill past all of the festive decorations, he couldn’t help but feel as if it were a little bit of a sham. What was the point in all of these pretty streamers if the real goodwill was being pushed aside by management? For the first time in a long time, looking at the Christmas lights didn’t make him smile.

Arriving at the life sciences building, Aziraphale noticed something rather new. Strung along the fence that kept guard over the flowerbeds were signs and arrows. He crunched through more snow to get a closer look.

 _‘Gardens this way!’_ was what the first one read, and a gaudy flashing arrow indicated the direction. Confused, Aziraphale walked along the path until another sign had him turning off, heading around the corner and down between two buildings.

 _No wonder nobody knows about this place,_ he thought. _They’ve got it hidden away_.

He weaved along the signposted pathway, which had something of an atmosphere of magic about it. Somehow, though he knew he was mere metres away from one of the main campus quarters, a peaceful silence surrounded him. High wooden fencing lined either side of the path, so he could no longer tell exactly where he was in relation to any buildings. Beautiful ivy clung to the fences, and warm outdoor lights had been stood in the soil to keep the way bright.

Aziraphale came to a corner. When he turned it, he drew in a breath at what he saw. 

Where the path might have turned dark, it was lit up as bright as can be. Arching over the pathway was the most beautiful trellis, thick with well-tended climbing plants. Woven around the branches were strings of fairy lights that twinkled as though they were stars hanging in a clear night sky. Streamers of red and gold had been wrapped around the entryway, and as Aziraphale watched the snow float down and land atop the greenery, his eyes sparkled with the reflection of a thousand tiny lights. He walked into the tunnel, breathing in the enchanting atmosphere he found inside.

When he emerged at the other end of the verdant tunnel, he found himself in a world he’d not have believed existed so close to the campus if you’d told him about it half an hour ago. A huge garden stretched out before him, winter blooms of the most beautiful colours collecting snow on their petals. This place, he realised, sat on the very outskirts of the campus: in the distance, he could see that at the end of the garden, there were rows of benches where one might sit and gaze out to sea from this utterly stunning vantage point. He couldn’t see a soul, but for now, he was content to take all of this beauty in.

Footsteps through the snow. A sound so soft, so minute: the breaking of a thick, crisp blanket that previously lay untouched on the ground. One step after another, Crowley made his own line of prints directly beside where Aziraphale had made his. That way, if anyone were to see the trails they left, it would appear exactly as it should: two people, walking side by side together into something beautiful and breathtaking.

‘Aziraphale.’

The blond man, wrapped up to his nose in his winter coat and tartan scarf, turned instantly.

‘Crowley!’

He smiled, and Crowley had no doubt that he could see him glowing. His blonde hair caught what little light there was, his lightly coloured clothes clear and warm when set against the darkness of the night. He was like a lighthouse in the fog, guiding Crowley to exactly where he was supposed to be. 

‘Thank you for coming.’

‘You invited me. I wouldn’t have not come.’

Crowley held that thought close to his chest, then filed it away for later. ‘I have something to show you.’

‘Something more than this? How could there be more?’

Crowley beckoned Aziraphale. ‘I don’t deal in words like you do. I’m just gonna take you there.’

Aziraphale nodded his agreement, and the two of them fell into step, walking side by side. It was quiet for a while, and Aziraphale could hardly bear it.

‘Crowley, I- I’m not sure if you saw all of my email. I know you replied but, well,’ he was flushed now, ready to tumble over his words and fall into the abyss of his affection for Crowley. Had he said too much? Had he thought they were closer than they were? ‘I know I can be rather emotional at times, so if you did read my message and felt it crossed a line, I wholeheartedly apologis-’

Crowley stopped him in the most effective way he now knew: he wrapped his own gloved hand around Aziraphale’s and gave a gentle squeeze, grounding him once again.

‘Stop apologising. Never apologise for your kindness. You ought to be proud of it.’

Just for a moment or two, Aziraphale couldn’t see for the tears he had to blink back.

Their hands fell apart; each of them pleading inside that the sparks flying between them were more than just imagination.

 _Take my hand again_ , thought Crowley. _Look where we are; anything is possible._

 _Let me love you_ , thought Aziraphale. _You’ve turned my life on its head, you make me feel proud of who I am._

Crowley brought them to a stop in front of a huge glass palm house, sliding a set of keys from his pocket.

‘Here?’ Gawped Aziraphale, amazed. ‘We’re going in here?’

Crowley unlocked the door, pulled it open, and gestured Aziraphale inside. ‘After you, Dr. Fell.’

Aziraphale didn’t bother trying to deny what those words did to him inside.

  
  


Moments later, Aziraphale was adjusting to the relative darkness when he heard the tinny opening notes of _Rockin’ Around The Christmas Tree_ sound out over a tannoy system. He laughed, turning around and trying to spot Crowley. 

‘Crowley, what _are_ you playing at?’

Lights began to flicker on. With each new section of the enormous place that came into view, Aziraphale became more and more stunned. Plants, like those in Crowley’s teaching rooms but taller, vast, and towering. He angled his gaze up to appreciate them, stepping further into the hall to see more. The place was exquisite, brimming with colour and the sweet scent of fresh dew. 

Crowley came and joined Aziraphale, pointedly resisting how tempting the man’s jawline looked. ‘Do you like it?’

‘Like it? Crowley this place is positively bewitching, how did you find it?’

‘Who do you think tends all of this, Aziraphale? The gardeners here are good but looking after palms and pines is a specialised skill.’

‘Do you really look after all of... This?’ Aziraphale gestured around, and Crowley nodded.

They found a bench that sat at the edge of the open centre of the enormous greenhouse; sitting side by side, Aziraphale continued to look on with awe at their surroundings.

‘Drink?’ Crowley proffered a thermos to Aziraphale.

Aziraphale nodded, reaching out; just as he was about to take hold, he swiftly retracted his hand. ‘Is it coffee?’ The disdainful wrinkle of his nose made an appearance, and Crowley laughed.

‘Cocoa, you picky bugger.’

‘Well excus-’ Aziraphale almost said something, but then he looked at the smirk on Crowley’s lips and broke into giggles. ‘I suppose I am quite particular about my beverages.’

‘Particular?’ Crowley accused. ‘When we were at the markets you told that vendor you didn’t like his ginger liquor because, and I quote, it tasted _“too gingery.”_ ’

‘Well, it _was_ too gingery! Anyway, you can’t use that against me. He’d already given us samples and I’m afraid I was quite tipsy.’

‘Tipsy? More like bloody hammered-’

‘I was _not_ “hammered” at all you bloody demon of a man!’

‘Yeah, whatever angel.’

They laughed, and Aziraphale desperately held back the need to know why Crowley called him _angel_. 

As Aziraphale poured the drinks, the next song came on over the tannoy and Aziraphale’s face dropped a little.

‘Aziraphale? What’s the matter?’

Aziraphale kept his head down, eyes on the thermos and the pour. ‘Nothing, nothing. Although-’ he deliberated carrying on, and decided he should. ‘I don’t much care for this song.’

‘What, you don’t like _Last Christmas_? Trying to win whamageddon or something?’

When Aziraphale lifted his head and gave a small, sad smile, Crowley regretted the joke.

‘Something along those lines.’

Pulling out his phone, Crowley immediately skipped the song. ‘This one alright?’

As the dulcet tones of Chris Rea rang out, Aziraphale nodded. ‘Much preferred.’

Avoiding further questions, Aziraphale turned to face Crowley.

‘Crowley?’

‘Yeah?’

There was a pause.

‘Why don’t you like Christmas?’

Crowley’s jaw dropped, and he was floored by the question. ‘What? What do you mean? Love Christmas, me!’

Aziraphale levelled a look at him. ‘I’ve spent the past month working on a Christmas project with you. I know how you feel about Christmas.’

Crowley rolled his head, sighing. He was caught. ‘Alright. I’m not the biggest fan.’

Aziraphale waited patiently, sipping from his little plastic mug.

‘It all just seems,’ Crowley bit his lip, thinking. ‘Well... fake, I suppose.’

‘How so?’

Crowley took his time. Eventually, he spoke.

‘All the lights. The trees and the songs. The adverts. What does it really mean? I’m not religious, so I’ve never experienced any sort of spiritual connection to it. All I’ve ever known was people using it as a way to sell stuff. Selling toys, selling clothes, selling impersonal gifts. People feel the need to buy pointless things for people they don’t even know that well. So much pressure, don’t get me started on the pressure! Financial strain, pressure to celebrate a certain way, pressure to spend it with certain people.’

He took a breath.

‘When I was little, we’d have the family ‘round. It was all drinking and arguing, arguing over petty things like who spent more on whose kids or why Uncle Tony can’t keep a relationship going or who didn’t help wash the plates after dinner. You get tired of it _very_ quickly. It only takes a few of those days to make you dread the time of year.’

Aziraphale had placed his cup on the floor by his feet and was looking at Crowley, struck to his core by how honest he was. To open up like that; Aziraphale could only hope to be so brave, so sure in himself. 

‘Well,’ he spoke softly. ‘With memories of that nature, I can’t possibly argue the toss with you. It must’ve been rather unpleasant. I’m sorry to hear it.’

Aziraphale was so sincere; Crowley needed him close, craved it.

‘Don’t worry about it, honestly. I’m older and wiser now. Some people just aren’t built for bringing goodwill to all mankind, and I’m afraid that’s the stock I come from.’

‘You’ve given plenty of goodwill. To this town. To this University.’ He almost whispered his last clause. ‘To me.’

Crowley’s heart did something incredibly acrobatic inside his ribs. ‘You love it, don’t you? Christmas?’

Aziraphale nodded. ‘How on Earth did you guess?’

The pair laughed again, and Crowley waited for Aziraphale to say more.

‘You must understand, Crowley. I spend a lot of time alone. Not day-to-day, of course. That’s why I adore my work, there’s always someone dropping in with a memo, or a question or a book recommendation or something like that. But I don’t go home to a family or a partner. Haven’t for some time now.’

The room went quiet as Aziraphale stooped to retrieve and sip his drink.

‘A number of years ago - just before I came to Tadfield, in fact - my partner left me at Christmas time. Early December, we’d just put the tree up a couple of days earlier. I’d not long since felt able to say out loud exactly what I felt for them. It was quite the blow, I was… well, let’s just say it put me out of action, in ways.’

Crowley could only imagine the agony. He wanted to soothe it all. Longed to lock his hand in Aziraphale’s, say _you have lived through so much and remain so kind - to have a share in your time is an honour for me_.

Instead, he listened.

‘I wasn’t sure what to do. At a total loss. I remember tearing the place apart once they’d left: lights, garlands, tree, the whole lot. I ripped them down, couldn’t bear the sight of them. Sat in all of the mess until someone found me, a friend.’ A soft smile played at the corner of Aziraphale’s mouth, and Crowley was amazed. ‘She picked me up, rang some people, and within the hour the place was clean. Then, they wrapped me up. They showed me so much love, Crowley, you wouldn’t believe. They stayed with me until I ate, one of them would always be by my side when I got upset. I remember it clear as day, one of them crouched down in front of me and said “ _Az, you need a tree._ ” I didn’t think I could, I thought it would just set me off again. But I said I’d try.’

Crowley blinked away the wet in his eyes; all he wanted was to hear Aziraphale tell his story.

‘I got swept up in it all. New tree, new lights - all of them were so colourful. My ex had never wanted colour, never let me put anything colourful up because it was _tacky_. No colour, no clutter, no _horrendous tartan_. Those had been the rules. So we just put the music on full blast, and we threw colour all over the whole house. Tacky as you like. They got me dancing, singing. I ate a proper meal for the first time in days. Crowley, it was one of the best days of my life. I just… I knew that everything was going to be alright. I suppose that’s what it means to me, all of it. Christmas. People being there for people. The bright lights, the shiny ornaments, the snow. I look at it all and it reminds me just how wonderful people can be. Working on this Drive, this project, I got to see it: people coming together, so generous and sweet. Like last week, you saw it, in the class you ran. The time of year does bring out the worst in people sometimes, I know that. But I think, maybe, that it brings out the best in people too.’ 

Crowley just nodded. ‘Yeah. I think you’re right.’

Aziraphale’s eyes widened when he turned to Crowley. He’d never told anyone the details of that story before, but here he felt safe. The other man had removed his dark glasses and his eyes were glistening with tears.

‘Oh Crowley I’m so sorry, the last thing I wanted was to-’

‘Stop saying sorry. Please, God, stop apologising. I think you’re incredible.’

Aziraphale felt like he could melt into a puddle under the blazing intensity of Crowley’s words. 

‘You work and you work and you work. Even at Christmastime, you take on more work. You give your time so willingly. Everyone respects you, you could easily cut back your hours but you choose to be here, helping, working.’

Aziraphale thought about this for a moment. ‘Well, I think you’re being very generous with how much you suggest I’m actually helping. But I suppose I do choose to be here a lot. It keeps me busy, keeps me in good company. It’s no good cutting oneself off, being alone. I moved here without knowing a soul, a new start. Being out and about is what keeps me going. If nothing else, it’s nice to feel useful. Perhaps it’s remiss of me to say, but that was one of the things I loved so much about the Christmas Drive. It was so lovely to feel… needed.’

Crowley itched to shout it out, take the man by the lapels and shake him.

_You are needed. You are so necessary, so much would fall apart without you here. You’ve made me feel like coming here was the right thing to do. I need you._

‘As long as you look after yourself. You don’t need to run yourself ragged to prove yourself, you’re so,’ Crowley tried to find a subtle way of saying what he meant, but there was no other word for it, really. ‘Loved.’

Aziraphale could’ve wept. He wanted so badly to hold, be held. He felt held by Crowley, just by virtue of being here, enveloped in his greenery and his nurture and the love that he gave to this place. 

  
  


Crowley spoke quietly. 

‘We can hold it here.’

Aziraphale didn’t understand. There was a pause, in which he looked at Crowley, perplexed and asking for clarification.

Crowley reached up, rubbing the last of his own tears away. He looked Aziraphale straight in the eyes. ‘The fundraiser. Big open space, we can hold it here. String some lights up on the palms, get a temporary stage brought in. We can do that. If you’d like.’

 _If I’d like_ , thought Aziraphale. Then, because he had to say it somewhere, he said it to himself. _I am so in love with you._

He couldn’t stop now, and a tear rolled down his cheek. He broke into a gigantic smile and almost whooped for joy; for the love of Crowley, the man who was good enough to save Christmas when he didn’t even like it. 

_'Crowley!_ Here? Are you sure, won’t it-’

‘I’m sure, Aziraphale.’ 

Aziraphale laughed, and Crowley laughed with him, the two of them feeling the weight of hopelessness dissipate from their shoulders. 

‘You’re very bold,’ said Aziraphale, catching and holding Crowley’s golden, sunshine gaze, ‘to call me incredible, when you’re an honest to God saint.’

They shared in the moment, feeling sparks bounce between them. The air was electrified with something utterly delightful. Crowley tried not to look at Aziraphale’s lips, pink and soft as they were. Before this moment, Aziraphale had tried his hardest not to drown in the warm pools of Crowley’s eyes; this time, as he looked into them deep, he allowed himself to dive in headfirst. 

_I’d give anything to kiss you right now_ , they both thought in tandem. Potential sat thick in the air around them.

Crowley broke the silence, smirking. 

‘Don’t know what you mean. M’not even nice, I just like free snack food.’

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. ‘Of course. And I only read books because they look nice on the shelf when I’ve finished.’

‘I could believe that.’

‘How very dare you!’

‘You said it, not me.’

They bickered over cocoa, discussing their plans for the event until it was time to converge with the committee.

When the students noticed that both Dr. Fell and Dr. Crowley were each admiring the other far more than usual during the meeting, it was nothing they hadn’t seen coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @sapphiclemons' beta reading keeps me motivated as I write. Endless thanks to her, as always.
> 
> Another chapter on its way soon!


	9. A Night to Remember

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again,
> 
> A very Merry Christmas Eve to all of you who are celebrating. I do hope that everyone is well. As always, thank you so much for engaging with me and reading this story. Writing and sharing it has brought me much joy during an otherwise quite quiet December, so I am very grateful for all of the love.
> 
> Tonight's chapter is one that I hope you'll all enjoy. 
> 
> Best wishes to you all, and a very Happy Christmas.

Once again, Aziraphale found himself walking down that path towards the botanical gardens, lips parted in awe as he gazed at his surroundings.

Had he thought that the place was a festive dreamscape the first time he’d come, he couldn’t even begin to describe what it had been transformed into for tonight’s big event. Crowley had shyly asked if he could direct Shadwell in the decorating of the place, citing his in-depth knowledge of the palm house and the fact that Aziraphale was drowning in papers that needed marking and handing back before the Christmas break. Aziraphale, seeing the hopeful twinkle in the man’s eyes, had been happy to agree; it had been rather thrilling to see Crowley wanting to engage with festivities of his own volition. There had been one more catch: Crowley had asked that Aziraphale stayed away from the area whilst the Christmassy makeover went on. Aziraphale had hesitated: never before had he handed off such an important part of running the Drive to someone else, and the thought had jarred with him at first. Then he thought about all that Crowley had done over the past few weeks. He saw how Crowley was looking at him, his eyes pleading, saying _let me do this, let me take this weight off your shoulders, let me build you a wonderland_. Then, Aziraphale had smiled and agreed: if there was anyone in the world that he trusted with this, it was Crowley.

As a result, for the past few days since Crowley had swept him into the gardens and presented him with a miracle, he’d been holed up in his office marking papers and jittering with nervous anticipation. More than anything, he missed Crowley. Both hard at work in separate places, the amount of time they were able to spend together had dropped significantly. Still, every so often the sweet man would drop by, bringing a festive snack and asking how his marking was going. Aziraphale had questioned him about the state of the set-up, but Crowley had simply smirked and reassured him it was all in hand. 

_‘It’s tantamount to torture, being stuck up here whilst everyone is getting ready for the event!’_ He’d pout. Crowley would look at him sympathetically then walk closer to the desk, making Aziraphale’s heart flutter.

 _‘I know, I know. But you’d never get your assignments marked before the event if I didn’t make you. They’d be hanging over your head all night, it’d be rubbish. This’ll be worth it, I promise.’_ And with that, Crowley would place a mince pie or a gingerbread man on his desk, flash him a captivating smile and saunter out of the room, leaving him sitting smitten in his desk chair. 

This afternoon, he had finally closed the last essay, marked to his usual informative standard, and placed it on the top of the pile in his pigeon hole to be collected by students before they left campus. It had been a truly wonderful feeling. As he’d felt the weight of responsibility lift from his shoulders and allowed the buzz of excitement over the night’s coming festivities to settle in, he’d praised Crowley once again.

_Oh, dear boy. You know exactly how to look after me. I’d never have stayed away without your reassurance. You’re so in tune with what I need; thank you for stilling me when you know I’m doing everything I can to run myself into the ground. Sometimes I forget to be kind to myself. How lucky I am to have you reminding me._

Having finished for the holidays, Aziraphale had waited until the time came for him to walk down to the palm house. He and Crowley had invited a few people to arrive early; Aziraphale had met Tracy, Anathema, and a couple of others and escorted them down to the awaiting surprise.

And now, here he was. Walking through a familiar tunnel of ivy, eyes twinkling under the lights. Little decorative snowmen and reindeer had been placed, flanking the entryway to the path. There were more lights: coloured, dancing, portraying shapes and slogans. He could hear the others gasping with delight somewhere behind him. He’d broken away from the group, carried forth by his urgent need to get to Crowley who he knew was somewhere at the other end. 

He emerged into the garden and his hand flew up to his mouth when he saw the place. Atop the hedges were lights and decorations. Beautiful animatronics had been set up on the perfectly kept grass. Stood in the centre of the gardens was a towering Christmas Tree, bedecked with huge, glimmering baubles and shimmering lights. Aziraphale was transfixed, his eyes trailing from the bottom to the very top, where a golden star sat sparkling in the light of the night.

As was customary, he didn’t hear Crowley coming until the man was right by his side. When he registered the presence, he turned immediately, already preparing to shower him in praise. When his eyes landed on Crowley’s profile, he felt the whole world around him fade out. He gazed at Crowley: the line of his neck as he joined Aziraphale’s admiration of the tree, the flick of his hair, and the sight of his breath floating out into the frozen sky like the ghosts of all the words that sat unsaid between them. Crowley looked like a work of art, framed by a blur of lights and the snowflakes that were drifting around the two of them on a swirling, icy breeze.

‘Not bad, eh?’ Smiled Crowley, finally turning to Aziraphale. Aziraphale didn’t know what to say.

_Not bad? Not bad? Your nonchalance doesn’t take away from how amazing this is. Your modesty will never fool me. I know exactly how hard you must have worked, and you ought to be prouder than that._

‘Crowley, this is utterly sublime. It’s beyond anything I might’ve imagined.’ Aziraphale felt himself getting rather emotional, so he focussed on stilling his trembling lower lip. Crowley stepped closer to his side, elbowing him gently.

‘Come on, you’ve not even seen most of it yet!’

Aziraphale smiled, then. He fell in step with Crowley as the two of them followed the edge of the gardens, directions now clearly signposted by a trail of light up candy canes leading to the palm house. 

The moment it came into sight, Aziraphale knew somewhere in the pit of his soul that it was going to blow him away. The place was radiating light, the soft drone of festive music floating out of the doors and lilting out into the cold, warming his heart. The thousands of panes of glass that made up the walls and ceilings seemed to be luminescent, all of the lights inside making the place glow like a lantern. Like the embers of a fire it pulsed with energy, exuding love. The two of them walked through the double doors, greeted by the sound of the University brass band playing _Silent Night_. Aziraphale didn’t know what to say. He knew every word in the dictionary, and none of them were enough to articulate how he felt or what he was seeing. Instead, he turned to Crowley, eyes brimming. Crowley turned to him, and when he saw the look on Aziraphale’s face he was ready to melt.

Aziraphale, unable to put how much this meant to him into words, faltered. What did he have to give to this utterly spectacular man? He didn’t have time to question himself: Crowley was stepping forward, arms outstretched to embrace him. Aziraphale practically fell into them, wrapping his arms around Crowley. They held one another silently, verdant palms arching over them and shrouding them from the rest of the world. The two of them took the long awaited chance to breathe one another in, enveloped by the energy of such a glorious, magical space. They each clung to the other, relishing in the embrace after so much time spent circling around one another, afraid of what it might mean to get too close. 

_This is where I’m meant to be. Here, with your arms around me._

‘Thank you, Crowley.’ Aziraphale’s voice was barely a whisper. Crowley couldn’t breathe to speak, so he just held Aziraphale tighter. 

As they heard the astonished gasps of the others walking in, they managed to pull themselves away from one another, each giving a shy, giddy smile. Crowley felt as light as a feather, still basking in how warm Aziraphale was. How strong his arms had felt around him, how secure he knew he was when Aziraphale embraced him and held him up. Aziraphale felt a tingling rush of warmth surging around his body as he came back to himself. He’d just wrapped Crowley up in his arms; he’d felt Crowley’s arms wrap around his shoulders in return, comforting and calming him. 

_There’s something special between us. I know you feel it too._

* * *

The event was the biggest success it had ever been.

Visitors were astounded by the beautiful surroundings and Aziraphale relished the amount of compliments he saw Crowley receive for all of his hard work. Aziraphale had spent the evening admiring the way that the beautiful Christmas trees, shiny garlands and fake snow looked next to the monstera and bamboo that Crowley cultivated. The entire place was spellbinding. 

A round of rapturous applause went up as the choir finished their final carol of the evening. There was cheering and whooping, students, staff and locals all celebrating the success of the Drive together. Aziraphale’s heart had never felt so full as it did tonight, and he turned to see Crowley and his friends clapping and whistling. 

‘Dr. Fell!’ Came a voice from onstage. ‘Speech! Speech, come on!’

The crowd agreed, encouraging him despite his modest protestations. He was gently ushered up onto the stage, a microphone thrust into his hand.

‘Alright, okay, you’ve got me!’ He laughed, and everyone laughed with him. Crowley gazed up from the front of the crowd, besotted with Aziraphale and the way he looked under the white of the spotlight.

‘This year,’ Aziraphale began, and he paused. He had made so many speeches in his time that he sometimes found himself regurgitating phrases or using clichés dressed up by his own advanced vocabulary. This year had been different, something entirely new. There was nothing he could reuse to describe it.

‘This year, in ways, was a challenge.’ Everyone listened, eyes fixed on the man who worked so hard to provide for others. ‘This project has been running for the last five years, and in that time I’ve met many of you out in the crowd tonight. During those years we’ve had cohorts of students who’ve completed their entire degrees and moved on. Some of them are here tonight, which is lovely to see.’

There were a couple of ‘ _wahey’_ s and a ‘ _nice one Dr. Fell!’_ from the crowd, and everyone smiled. 

‘What many of you might not know is that when I first moved here, I came alone. I came to Tadfield to find my feet and start over, in ways. I didn’t know what to expect. For a little while, I didn’t do much other than go to work and go home. It was all rather overwhelming, moving into such a tight knit community. Then, December came. I remember it well, the first time I experienced the way that the snow falls here. I had to go into the town for some groceries, so I walked down and when I arrived at the market square I was knocked sideways: it had been set up for Christmas and the whole place was,' Aziraphale paused: the room remained silent, listening. 'Warm. Welcoming. The first stall I went to was being run by a charming young lady called Joanie,’ there was a hum of appreciation for this; everybody knew Joanie. ‘She said to me “ _I don’t think I’ve seen your face before, are you new in town?_ ” and so I told her, I said yes.’

Crowley had tuned in completely to the rise and fall of Aziraphale’s speaking voice. He was paying rapt attention to the story.

‘Well, the rest for me is history. She closed her stall up and insisted on giving me a tour of the town. She argued that having lived here all of her life there was no one better to do it. We spoke for hours, it turned out we were practically neighbours. That evening I learnt everything I would ever need to know about this wonderful little town and the people in it, who’ve been welcoming hundreds of staff and students into their little slice of paradise on the coast for generations. A town full of people who give, expecting nothing in return. And that’s what Christmas is, to me anyway.’

A few emotional sniffles could be heard out in the crowd now; Crowley didn’t feel too far behind them.

‘I was helped in ways that I cannot describe by the kindness of everyone in this town. At the University we are immensely privileged: we have access to things like funding, sponsorships, and such. The first Tadfield Christmas Drive was a rather small affair - I’m sure many of you remember it. It was so lovely, getting to know more people and see how wonderful you all are. Getting to see the students making fast friendships with local residents. So many amazing things grew out of that, including this project which has expanded exponentially year on year.’

There was applause for this; everyone knew that Aziraphale had fought to grow it, and everyone had been behind him.

‘So here we are, five years later. It has grown so much, despite resistance from some angles. It’s been our most successful year yet, and I’m utterly delighted to announce that together we’ve more than tripled our fundraising total from last year.’

Gasps went up from the audience, before ecstatic whoops came over the crowd. Aziraphale laughed, looking down at Crowley, his message clear: _t_ _his couldn’t have happened without you_.

‘It is my absolute honour to thank everyone involved. The marvellous choir, the unendingly talented wind band, Sergeant Shadwell and the custodial team, Mrs Jennings for allowing us to borrow her market stall, our extremely hard working group of student volunteers - led by Adam Young and Pepper Moonchild. Every single person who has donated or spread the word or come to an event.’

He led everybody in a round of applause.

‘There is also someone who I need to thank, and he’s going to kill me for this later but it absolutely must be done.' Everyone quietened. It wasn't often that the reserved Dr. Fell gave personal thanks; everybody wanted to hear this. 'There were moments this year where it really did seem like we weren’t going to be able to make all of this,’ he gestured around, ‘work. I’m more than certain that, had I been trying to run the Drive on my own as usual, it would have collapsed.’

Tracy and Anathema were looking at Crowley, who was still too engrossed to fully register what was coming.

‘So I'd like to thank my colleague, Crowley. Some of you might’ve met him at the events.’

Crowley slammed back to Earth, his mouth dropping open. 

_Me? He’s talking about me?_ Thought Crowley.

Aziraphale gave Crowley the most beatific, sincere smile he’d ever seen.

 _I’m talking about you_. Said the smile.

‘This is a man who, like me, came to this town alone. When I was struggling, right at the start of this whole process, he didn’t hesitate to step in: he’s been by my side from that moment onwards, pushing this whole project forward. All of the new events, all of the successes we’ve had. All of this, here tonight. None of it would’ve been possible without him. He’s been such a phenomenally creative, hard-working, steadfast partner to run it with, and I will be forever grateful to him for everything he has done over the course of the project. It has been an utter joy to work with you, Crowley.’

The whole room exploded into applause, cheers of _‘yes Dr. Crowley’_ and whistles flying around the room. Anathema and Tracy patted Crowley on the back.

Crowley was staring up at Aziraphale, his heart swollen with raw, honest, true love.

_I would do all of it and more every day if it lifted a weight off your shoulders._

He smiled, mouthing a ‘thank you’ up to Aziraphale. His whole world was here, in this room. Coming to Tadfield had been the decision of a lifetime.

Aziraphale pinned him with the sincerity of his hazel gaze, then mouthed back three simple words.

‘No. Thank _you_.’

It took Crowley’s breath away. To be seen. Appreciated. Adored, so publicly. It was all he could ever wish for.

Aziraphale’s voice rang sweetly in his ears as he basked in the afterglow of his praise.

‘Thank you to you all for coming tonight. For celebrating with us. All that’s left to say is this: we’ll see you again next year.’

* * *

Aziraphale said countless goodbyes to people who were on their way out. Students were taking the night trains home for Christmas, locals were heading home to cosy up by the fire. There was a buzz of festive excitement in the air. Crowley was talking animatedly to a group of older women who were all passionate gardeners, telling them about his work and showing them some of the most awe-inspiring blooms in the palm house. 

Shadwell and the custodial team gradually ushered everybody out into the gardens and the entryway so they could start to change the room around. The staff Christmas party, scheduled to begin soon, was also now set to take place in the palm house. When Aziraphale had found out via Tracy he had baulked at Crowley’s generosity; in Aziraphale’s eyes, allowing staff to drink in here was as risky as throwing the party in the library. Crowley had quickly assured him that Christmas Palm trees were much sturdier than ancient books, and wouldn’t be damaged nearly as badly by a spilt glass of Merlot.

When Crowley eventually parted with the leaders of the Tadfield Allotment Society, he made a beeline for Aziraphale. He zoned in on the man as he walked towards him. Everything else faded out and all he could see was Aziraphale as he tipped his head back in laughter, sipped from the glass of wine that he’d already acquired from the temporary bar that was now being set up. The world moved in slow motion as Crowley got closer to Aziraphale, who looked dazzling in all of his exuberance. As soon as Aziraphale noticed him approaching he forgot what he was saying and instead reached an arm out, gesturing for Crowley to arrive faster. 

‘Here he is, the man of the hour!’ Aziraphale announced, beaming. Tracy, who Aziraphale was chatting to, gave a little round of applause as Crowley arrived and Aziraphale, clearly riding the high of the evening’s success, put his arm around Crowley’s shoulders and squeezed without a second thought.

Crowley chuckled, nudging Aziraphale. ‘I can’t believe you did that, telling everyone I’m all.. _nice_!’

Aziraphale rolled his eyes, tutting. ‘Well you are! You deserved a proper thank you. I won’t hear any more on the matter.’

‘You’re just a little bit of a bastard, aren’t you?’ Smiled Crowley.

‘A little bit?’ Teased Aziraphale. ‘Yes, alright. We’ll stick with a little bit.’ He smirked then, giving Crowley a wink. An honest-to-God, genuine _wink_. Crowley almost fainted, swooning over the mischievous smile and the glint in Aziraphale’s eyes. He was acutely aware that the most attractive man in the entire world had a strong arm around his shoulders, and it was making him rather weak at the knees. 

Soon enough, the place was ready and more staff started to arrive. An hour or so into the party - and a glass and a half of wine later - Aziraphale was on edge, watching people get too close to Crowley’s precious work. Noticing the tension in his shoulders, Crowley whispered to him. 

‘Stop glaring at people, you’ll end up in a fight over a bloody fern if you’re not careful.’

Aziraphale flushed, feeling playfully admonished. ‘I can’t help it! They’re hardly being careful, it’s not like these are standard garden fare.’ 

Crowley shushed him gently, distracting him with a gentle brush of his own hand against Aziraphale’s. Aziraphale was immediately won over, his attention afforded to Crowley alone as a shot of pure electricity raced through his veins, originating from the point of contact between the sides of their hands.

 _Calm down._ Aziraphale reprimanded himself. _Calm down, there’s people everywhere. Oh, but he’s so unbearably gorgeous._

‘I swear to you,’ said Crowley, ‘the plants will be okay. I’d never have agreed to have the party here if not.’

Convinced solely by the feeling of Crowley’s skin against his, Aziraphale finally nodded. ‘You’re right, of course. Though the moment I see anyone trying to climb a tree, I will be stepping in immediately.’

Crowley smiled at that. ‘Oh, well aren’t I lucky to have you here defending my territory?’

Aziraphale’s blush deepened and he batted Crowley’s arm. ‘I’m not a dog, Crowley!’

Leaning into Aziraphale’s ear, Crowley whispered. ‘I bet you are when you want to be.’

Crowley smirked as he felt the man tense up. How thrilling it was, to monopolise the attention of this well-spoken, refined man. To turn him to a statue, have him waiting with bated breath for Crowley’s next move. It was utterly delicious, and Crowley revelled in it.

_Why are we dancing around one another? I know how much you want me._

Aziraphale felt the flirtation rush straight to his core, his stomach doing an about turn and his blood running hot. Try as he might to hide the excited wriggling that he felt occurring in his chest, he knew that the colour in his cheeks and the tension in his muscles betrayed him. 

_You reduce me to a wanting mess with the simplest of phrases. This is the most delightful torture._

As the two of them stood silent, feeling the sparks fly, the music coming through the tannoy slowed down. Bing Crosby’s _White Christmas_ started up and Aziraphale gasped softly. ‘Oh, I adore this song!’

‘Right. Finish that glass,’ said Crowley, downing the rest of his own. ‘Come and have a dance!’

Aziraphale’s eyes widened. ‘Dance? Me? Dear boy, I’ve not had nearly enough to drink!’

‘So finish the glass! There’s plenty of people out there,’ Crowley went for the kill, slipping his glasses off and shooting his best puppy dog eyes at Aziraphale, whose Adam's apple bobbed in his throat as he swallowed for breath. ‘You can’t send me out there dancing alone.’ 

Aziraphale didn’t have it in him to begrudge the man a thing. He tipped his glass, drinking it down. Crowley stared at the line of his neck, the expanse of it, the way it disappeared into his collar saying _come and explore_. Aziraphale placed his glass on the bar and Crowley grabbed him by the hand, dragging him out onto the makeshift dance floor. Aziraphale was helpless; he could do nothing but follow after him, needy and infatuated. 

He held back a shudder of sensation as Crowley’s arms came up, resting on his shoulders, hands sitting at the top of Aziraphale’s spine. 

_Oh do pull yourself together!_ Aziraphale scolded himself. _You’d _t_ hink he was all over you with the way you’re falling apart! _

‘Aziraphale?’

Crowley smiled, before taking Aziraphale’s hands and gently depositing them on his own waist. ‘Like this, is that alright?’

‘Y-yes. Yes, of course. Right! Good.’

The crooning filled the room; Crowley and Aziraphale had eyes for only one another, and as they swayed the lyrics wrapped around them like a ribbon, pulling them closer together until Aziraphale’s hands sat on the small of Crowley’s back and Crowley could smell Aziraphale’s hair, the sweetness of the pomade he used. From so close, the flecks of colour in Aziraphale’s eyes were breathtaking: two tiny oceans, that were tracing the features of Crowley’s face, half lidded as Aziraphale felt himself grow drowsy from the pounding of his own heart. Aziraphale could see the fine fibres on Crowley’s shirt, the peach fuzz hairs on his neck.

_It’s criminal that I should get to be so close and not have the bottle to kiss you._

Then, Aziraphale felt Crowley’s fingertips playing at the back of his collar. They tugged his shirt shyly, before brushing up the nape of his neck and dancing through the curls that sat just above his collar. The sensation sent a shiver shooting down Aziraphale's spine, setting fire to the pent up desire that lay at his core. A fetching shade of pink painted his cheekbones. Crowley felt the silky softness of Aziraphale’s cotton cloud hair, twirling the baby curls at the back of his head between the tips of his fingers. The sheer heat of Aziraphale’s skin was astounding, warming Crowley’s hands. The desire bubbling between the two of them was building to a boil, and Crowley felt his mouth go dry as he held onto the hot-blooded man, feeling the way his thumbs were brushing restlessly at his lower back. 

Neither of them realised when the music transitioned from the slow song into something more upbeat until the two of them were pushed together as people returned to the dancefloor, their torsos colliding. Aziraphale didn’t know what to do: he’d always been more of a talker than a mover. Crowley knew instinctively how to move along to the pop music that was playing; his hips undulated a little, his head moved in time with the rest of his body. He smiled at Aziraphale, who decided to stick with the trustworthy classic: stepping from side to side. 

‘Come on Angel, show me your moves!’

‘I’m not sure that I’m physically capable of moving in any way that’s appropriate for this song!

Crowley spoke with great decisiveness, and the two of them could feel one another’s warmth. ‘As long as you’re having fun, you’re winning!’ 

And, much to his own surprise, Aziraphale was having an incredible amount of fun. He was swaying a little more now, falling into step with Crowley. More than anything, he was enjoying watching the sinuous, slightly _sultry_ way that Crowley danced. It was hypnotising, and Aziraphale was more than happy to be taken apart under his spell.

‘Oh now _that’s_ more like it, Angel! Show me what those hips can do!’

Crowley relished every slight move Aziraphale made with his body: whilst the bookworm was clearly not accustomed to dancing, his small contributions established immense potential. It was obvious that Aziraphale was very much capable of rolling his hips when given the right circumstances. 

Aziraphale, taming the part of his mind that found permanent residence in the gutter, laughed at Crowley, who was now pretending to belt out the opening notes of _All I Want For Christmas Is You_. He stepped back, feigning shock, holding Crowley to account.

‘Dr. Crowley! Mere days ago we sat in this very room and you told me that you don’t like Christmas!’

Crowley guffawed at this, pulling Aziraphale close by the shoulder and speaking into his ear. ‘Well Dr. Fell, it seems my mind has been changed. Met my very own Christmas Angel, you see.’ He winked, and as Aziraphale laughed he allowed himself to be pulled into another dance, his moves loosening up with every song.

* * *

It was nearing midnight. Crowley and Aziraphale had stepped out of the palm house to get some fresh air. They’d snuck away from their colleagues who were milling around the entrance and escaped to the edge of the garden. Currently, the two of them were standing by the benches that faced out to sea.

‘Almost Christmas Eve,’ said Aziraphale.

Crowley tugged back his sleeve to check the time. ‘You’re right. Ten minutes or so.’

‘Any plans?’

Crowley nodded. ‘Heading down to my parents’ place. Staying ‘til boxing day. Same as every year.’

Aziraphale looked at him, remembering what Crowley had said the other day. ‘Are you named after your Uncle Tony?’

Crowley looked at Aziraphale, puzzled. 

‘You know,’ Aziraphale continued. ‘The one who can’t sustain a relationship?’

At this, Crowley laughed. ‘Angel, I _am_ Uncle Tony who can’t hold down a relationship.’

Aziraphale gasped, covering his mouth. ‘Oh Crowley I am sorry-’

‘Don’t even worry about it. It’s just my lot talking crap. Turn up single every year and people make assumptions. They can’t seem to believe that I’m still holding out for the right person.’

Aziraphale swallowed. _Who are they? Who are you looking for? I want to be everything you need and more._

‘How about you?' Said Crowley. 'What’s your plan? Bet you’re busy as anything aren’t you?’

Aziraphale looked away, down at his shoes. He flicked some now around with his toecap. ‘No plans. I’ll be here.’

Crowley’s jaw dropped. ‘What? Here all Christmas?’

‘No, no. I’ll be getting the train and going to the family home on Christmas Morning. There’s nowhere for me to stay over in the house, you see. I’d usually spend the Eve with my friends, but this is the first year where they’ve all got little families of their own.’ Aziraphale gave a half-hearted smile: it was bittersweet, how happy he was for them and how far behind he sometimes felt. ‘I can’t quite bring myself to infringe. So I’m just going to,’ he looked up, out to sea, watching the reflection of the moon dapple on the water. ‘Oh, I don’t know. Curl up with a book, I imagine.’

There was a pause: Crowley didn’t know what to say. Was the world really so unjust that it might leave a man like Aziraphale alone at Christmas?

‘Will you be alright?’

‘Oh, of course dear boy. It’s not exactly my festive dream, but I’ll have plenty to keep me occupied.’ Aziraphale sighed softly. ‘Maybe next year I’ll have someone to spend it with too.’

Crowley gazed at him. _Let it be me. Let me curl up by the fire with you. Let me wake up with you on Christmas Morning._

‘Maybe you will.’

The snow began to fall once more. Crowley tucked his bare hands under his arms for warmth. The flakes that fell around them were dainty, fragile. 

‘It’s like a different world out here.’ Said Aziraphale, and Crowley agreed.

Aziraphale turned then, his whole body moving to face Crowley. ‘I meant what I said. This year would’ve been a non-starter if not for you.’

Crowley felt heat stinging his cheeks, bright red against the cold. ‘Oh come on. Give yourself a little credit.’

From across the gardens, the music drifted over to them on the air. The sounds of laughter, dancing. Elvis’ _Blue Christmas_ was playing, and Crowley turned to Aziraphale. 

‘Isn’t this one of your favourites?’

Aziraphale turned to Crowley, shocked that he’d remembered. ‘Yes, it is.’

‘We can go and listen, if you’d like?’ Crowley dropped his arms and made to take a step, walk back to the party. Aziraphale couldn’t bear for the moment to end. He reached out, his warm glove wrapping around Crowley’s cold palm, holding on and stopping him from moving any further. 

‘Wait! I-’ Aziraphale flushed. ‘Can’t we listen from here?’ 

Crowley moved back towards Aziraphale, who decided to be brave.

‘Won’t you dance with me again?’

Crowley nodded, and it was his turn to flush as Aziraphale stepped towards him. The blond looked into his eyes as he placed his hands on Crowley’s waist, tender as anything. Crowley met him in the middle, his hands landing on Aziraphale’s lapels. 

The song said everything that Aziraphale wished he could say to Crowley. 

_I’m going to miss you over Christmas. I’ll be thinking about you all day tomorrow. I’ll be thinking about you until I see you again._

Although his hands were trembling ever so softly with nerves, Aziraphale snaked them round to where they were sitting earlier, on the small of Crowley’s back. Soft brown leather sitting gently on black wool, wanting so badly to pull him closer. Crowley ran one of his hands up the fabric of Aziraphale’s coat and round to the back of his neck: this time, when he stroked up into the curls, Aziraphale gasped at the chill, pulling the two of them closer together with the surprise of freezing cold skin against the nape of his neck.

Suddenly, they were close enough to feel one another’s breath. Aziraphale thought that Crowley might well hear the fierce hammering of his heart. 

Crowley bit his lip, smirking a little as Aziraphale acclimated to the cold of his fingertips. ‘Sorry Angel-’

Aziraphale stopped him, his voice so quiet and yet so sure. ‘It’s alright’.

_Don’t ever apologise for touching me like that._

Then, Crowley ran his fingers up into the hair on the back of Aziraphale’s head. Aziraphale closed his eyes. He hadn’t been held for so long, he pressed into the touch. Crowley almost lost his legs as he felt Aziraphale push into his hand, soft curls around his fingers. When Aziraphale leant, Crowley leant too, down to the sweet spot by his ear.

‘You are,’ he paused, hearing Aziraphale sigh, relishing the low purr that he knew was held in the man’s throat. ‘So beautiful.’

Aziraphale gasped quietly. As Crowley placed the softest, gentlest kiss just below his ear, he came utterly undone. He turned his head to the side, catching Crowley's lips with his own in a breathless flurry that was laced with love.

He gasped. ‘Crowley I’m _so_ sor-’

Crowley took him by the lapels, kissing him hard and walking him backwards until Aziraphale landed seated on the bench. He leant down, looking Aziraphale dead in the eyes. 

‘Don’t you dare finish that sentence. Don’t you bloody _dare_.’

Aziraphale wrapped his arms around Crowley as the man straddled him. He leant forward, meeting Crowley halfway, their mouths crushing together with the weight of all of their want. Their lips parted and Aziraphale moaned softly, gasping with every sensation afforded to him by Crowley’s tongue. His hands roved around Crowley’s back, pulling him close. 

Two sighs of relief, two noses bumping over and over, two names breathed out into the dark night as if they were prayers. 

‘Crowley-’

‘Shut up. Please. Just kiss me.’

So Aziraphale did. 

He kissed his mouth, he kissed his cheeks, he kissed along his jaw and breathed hard against his ear when Crowley leant in and nibbled on the side of his neck. Hidden away from the whole world, the two of them kissed and then kissed some more, each unwilling to part with the other’s soft, warm lips.

* * *

For a while, they got lost in one another. When it was finally time to go back to the party, they agreed to go separately as means of avoiding a fuss.

As soon as Aziraphale stepped through the door, Tracy was on him in an instant. 

‘Where the bloody hell have you been? I’ve been looking every-’ She stopped still, taking in the sight of him. Dazed, lips pink, bow tie ever so slightly askew. Her face broke into a smirk. Aziraphale’s eyes widened as he realised what was coming: he pulled her to the side, away from the crowd. ‘Aziraphale Fell you dirty, dirty boy! Who’s world have you been rocking?’

Aziraphale’s face was aflame. ‘Nobody! No one’s world! There have been zero worlds rocked.’ 

Tracy batted his arm. ‘Don’t you dare lie to me Mister. Your hair is a mess, your tie is loose-’ she gasped, leaning close to study him, tugging down the side of his collar. ‘And is that a _love bite_ on your neck?’ 

Aziraphale pulled back, rubbing over the sensitive spot. ‘Of course it isn’t-’

And then Crowley sauntered in, hips swaying, hair artfully mussed as always, and Aziraphale lost all of his words. He almost watered at the mouth. He knew exactly what Crowley’s lips tasted like, and they were delicious.

Tracy gasped. ‘Oh. My. God.’ She pointed at him. ‘You just snuck out of the office party to canoodle with your crush!’

Aziraphale turned to her. ‘You can’t tell a soul. Promise me Tracy.’ His friend squealed with excitement, and he took her by the arm. ‘Promise me!’ 

Tracy nodded. ‘I promise, I promise!’ There was a moment’s pause. ‘But is he a good kisser?’

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. As Crowley walked over, he shot her a warning look.

Crowley wanted to kiss him again. Those lips. The things that Aziraphale could do with his mouth were downright _sinful_. The taste he’d gotten had been short, but delectable and oh-so-sweet. It had left him needing more. 

But the party was ending, and it was time for everyone to go home.

The three of them walked together, chatting amicably as they made their way to the front of the campus. Tracy wished them both a good night before excusing herself, leaving the two of them standing by the gates, both longing for one another even more than they had been before.

‘Well. I’ll see you after Christmas, I suppose?’ Said Aziraphale, his heart fluttering. He’d kissed Crowley. He’d kissed the most incredible, fanciable man he’d ever met. They’d kissed each other.

_I kissed you and you kissed me back. I can’t get enough of you._

‘Yes. Yeah. I should be back soon enough.’

_I’m coming back as soon as possible. You’d better do those amazing tricks with your mouth again._

Aziraphale nodded. ‘Have a wonderful Christmas, Crowley.’ Feeling brave, he stepped forward and pressed the gentlest, sweetest peck to the other man’s cheek before turning and heading down the hill.

Crowley smiled, watching as Aziraphale disappeared, giddy as a schoolboy.

_‘Have a wonderful Christmas, Crowley.’_

Crowley‘s eyes shone with adoration. For once, he thought that he just might.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta-dah!
> 
> So, so, so many thanks to @sapphiclemons for the excellent beta-ing.
> 
> Please do feel free to come and say Hi on Twitter (@earthisalibra) if so inclined. I am very active there!
> 
> See you all again soon!


	10. December 25th

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas All!
> 
> Just a short one.
> 
> Sending lots of love - stay well!

Aziraphale was ready to head out of the door when he heard something drop through the letterbox.

It was Christmas Morning. He’d woken up and taken a shower, freshening himself for visiting his family. He’d had breakfast, checked that all of his gifts were wrapped. This was his new normal: Christmas Eve alone, Christmas Morning alone. 

He’d spent most of the day before thinking about Crowley. That kiss. How was he supposed to stop thinking about it? The most gorgeous man he’d ever met had stolen him away from the crowd and kissed him senseless on a bench that pointed out to sea. It was like something out of his dreams; Aziraphale might not have believed it had happened if he hadn’t a deep purple mark sat just below the line of his collar to prove it. He blushed fiercely every time he saw it, unable to forget the sensation of Crowley biting gently at his neck, sucking softly as he supported Aziraphale’s rolling head with his hands, stroking through his curls. Aziraphale bit his lip: he’d been single for five years, and there hadn’t been an abundance of opportunities for trysts in Tadfield. He had been very reactive to Crowley’s gentle kisses, but he couldn’t bring himself to be embarrassed by it. The whole thing had felt so _good_.

He was thinking about it again, hand absent-mindedly slipping under his collar to stroke the mark Crowley had left, as he retrieved the letter from his doormat.

The envelope was addressed by hand; Aziraphale furrowed his brow as he studied it. 

_There’s no post on Christmas Day. What on Earth is this?_

He opened his front door, stepping out and looking around to try and spot the mystery sender. Having no luck, he stepped back inside. Seeing no reason not to, he walked into his modest personal library and sat at his desk, taking his letter opener and slicing a pristine opening in the envelope with precise, practiced hands. He slipped the letter out of the envelope, unfolding it with care, and began to read.

_Aziraphale,_

_I hope you had a nice Christmas Eve. Sorry that you were on your own. I think the world has gotten something terribly wrong this year if a man like you has to spend Christmas Eve alone. I will be writing a strongly worded letter of complaint to God as soon as I finish this one._

_As you know, I’m not a wordy bloke. Not like you, anyway. I think the last time I wrote a letter was in Primary School. Not sure if you’re meant to write every little thing that you think, but I don’t remember any better so here we are. If you make it to the end in one go, you definitely deserve all of your fancy English degrees._

_My first couple of months in Tadfield, I really wasn’t sure whether coming here had been a mistake. The landscape is amazing, the Uni is reputable, the rent is affordable. But I didn’t really have anybody. Before, when I was living in the city, I always found it easy to make friends. There’s always another lonely soul wandering about looking for a pal. When I arrived here, it was scary - everybody already had their ‘people’. I moved here on a whim, really. Something about the place, I was never sure exactly what, just told me that I needed to come here. Those first couple of months I just couldn’t settle. I was on edge, I always felt like something important was missing. That thing that I came here for was always five steps ahead, I couldn’t find it._

_When you came to my lesson, I was so ready to give you a load of cheek about it. I was going to make some proper snidey comments about how you must have too much time on your hands and how my students would be too busy to help you (I’m a knob, I know - I’m just trying to be honest). I’ll never forget the first time I heard your voice. I felt something settle down inside me, that thing that was making me so restless. This is going to sound ridiculous, but you came over to me at the end of your talk and the light from the window was shining all around you. You looked like an angel, honest to God. I was so drawn to you. You were the first member of staff that I met from another department and I expected you to be so arrogant. You shook my hand and I remember the look on your face when Anathema said I wanted to help with the Drive. Can I tell you a secret? I hadn’t said anything of the sort. I think she knew something that I didn’t from that first moment (she’s very intuitive)._

_I didn’t think I’d hear from you again. Pretended that I didn’t want to, really. But I did - you sent me that email. You went out of your way to find me, get in touch. I was so close to skipping that first meeting but I thought to myself that if you could take the time to seek me out, then I could go out of my comfort zone and accept your invite. Honestly? I also wanted to see you again. That was the main thing that I didn’t want to miss out on._

_We’ve had a pretty packed few weeks together. You’re the person I spend my time with now - the person I want to spend my time with. I think of you when something makes me laugh. I want to complain to you when something winds me up. I want to hear you telling me stories and explaining interesting things. I want to kiss you again._

_There - it’s down in black and white now. I’ve been thinking about it this whole time that I’ve been writing. I want you to kiss me, like at the party. I can’t stop thinking about the taste of your lips. I miss you and we’ve hardly been apart a day. I don’t feel like I made it clear enough to you how much I enjoyed our time alone the other night, but I’m telling you now. When you kissed me, I knew why I moved here. I can’t stop thinking about you, and how much I want you to kiss me again._

_It is Christmas, so I just wanted to put it all out there. I hope you feel the same. If not, I would appreciate being let down gently. I know you’re a gent, so please be mindful of my ‘feelings’. If you do feel the same... I can’t wait to see you again ;)_

_I’d like to drop by on Boxing Day to say hello. I’m going to pass this on to Joanie, who kindly offered to put it through your letterbox as a Christmas surprise. I hope it reaches you before you leave town. If you’re busy or out on the 26th don’t worry about it - I’ll get the message after a few unanswered knocks!_

_Have the most amazing Christmas Day. Thank you for reminding me what it’s all really about. I really will be blue without you._

_Love, Crowley._

_PS - check the doorstep._

  
  


Aziraphale, left reeling from the contents of the letter, rushed to his front door. He flung it open and there, at his feet, lay a square box wrapped in beautiful, delicate paper. Taking it back to his desk, he untied the ribbons and carefully unwrapped the box. When he lifted the lid, he drew in a breath. 

Sat gently on soft tissue was his very own Christmas wreath. It looked magnificent, decorations and embellishments attached to the branches. Crowley had used pearlescent beads, silk ribbons in Aziraphale’s colours, and sprinklings of glitter to make the thing look utterly gorgeous. At the top of the circle sat the tartan bow that they had tied together. 

A small note at the bottom of the box read simply:

_Merry Christmas. With Love x_

Aziraphale took a moment to bask in the tenderness, care, and beauty that radiated off the object, wiping a small tear of joy from the corner of his eye. 

When Aziraphale had to leave to catch his train, he paused to look at the wreath which was now hanging proudly on his front door. 

_See you tomorrow, sweetheart,_ he thought. Then he walked down to the station, his heart full to bursting with love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @sapphiclemons - your beta-ing is the best Christmas gift a writer could hope for.
> 
> See you all soon!


	11. Boxing Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone had a lovely Christmas. Just a soft reunion for the boys.

Despite the long drive home that he’d undertaken in the morning, Crowley was full of energy.

It was just past noon when he made his way across town to Aziraphale’s quaint cottage. The place was nestled down a lane that forked off to the right when one stepped out of the gates of the University of Tadfield campus. The cobbled little street was lined with what Crowley recognised as hedges that would bloom in springtime. It was set on a downward slope that led in the direction of the coast. As he was walking down to Aziraphale’s, Crowley could gaze out to the sea which sat peacefully on the horizon, waves glittering for miles.

The little stone household was detached, a path winding up the small front garden to a wooden porch. Crowley swallowed his nerves as he headed up towards the door: he stopped still when he saw the wreath hanging, deep green branches and pastel decorations looking utterly wonderful against the deep mahogany colour of the door’s panelling. 

_That’s a good sign. It can only be a good sign, surely._

Wielding his small bag of Christmas leftovers, he stepped up onto the porch and rapped on Aziraphale’s front door.

Aziraphale was sitting in his favourite armchair reading a special collection of H.G. Wells' works that he’d been gifted for Christmas. He had, of course, read all of the stories before - but he was no stranger to revisiting his favourites and was relatively content to sit and do so. Whilst it was pleasant enough, something had been playing on Aziraphale’s mind all morning. 

_He did say he wanted to pop round, didn’t he? Did I dream that up?_

He’d re-read Crowley’s letter more times than he’d ever re-read anything that was sitting on his countless bookshelves.

_What if he’s changed his mind? What if he didn’t mean it? What if he met a beautiful family friend whilst visiting home and fell totally and irrevocably in love?_

Aziraphale was long used to his creative mind playing cruel tricks on him, so he’d occupied himself the best way he knew how and settled down with the Wells book. When the knock finally came, it took all of his restraint not to drop his leatherbound classic and sprint to the door. He rushed despite himself, pausing to look in the mirror that was hung in the hallway. He tidied up a couple of errant curls and wiped a pastry crumb from the corner of his mouth, smoothing down his waistcoat and fixing his bow tie. For a moment, he wondered if Crowley would think him odd for wearing his usual smart attire out of work, but then he stopped himself, looking in the mirror. It had taken him a long time, but he knew how to stop old, self-deprecating thought patterns from creeping up on him.

_Of course he won’t. And even if he did, you deserve more than that._

He smiled at himself. Oh, how precious it was to smile in the mirror and feel it on the inside.

Turning, bracing himself, he opened the door.

For a moment, the two of them just stood in silence, each stunned and not knowing what to say. Aziraphale couldn’t believe that Crowley had come. Crowley couldn’t believe that Aziraphale had opened the door.

 _He’s incredible_.

It was Aziraphale who got his whereabouts first.

‘Crowley, Dear, it’s so lovely to see-’

He didn’t even get to finish his sentence before Crowley stepped across the threshold, his hands coming up to take hold of Aziraphale’s lapels and his voice a whisper.

‘Aziraphale, I need you to-’

Aziraphale’s hands knew what to do before his mind caught up. He swung the door shut behind his guest and crowded Crowley against it, kissing him deeply. The push and pull between them was fuelled by hot embers freshly stoked, heat pouring off the tip of Aziraphale’s tongue as it teased at the seam of Crowley’s lips.

They parted for breath.

‘I’ve missed you,’ breathed Crowley. 

‘I’ve not stopped thinking about you. Not for a moment,’ whispered Aziraphale.

Aziraphale’s hands cradled Crowley’s waist as he kissed him again, softer this time. Less urgent, more languid. Their eyes closed and Crowley all but melted against Aziraphale as the refined man did those filthy things with his mouth again, nibbling on his lip and brushing his tongue into his mouth. He pulled Aziraphale flush against him and the two of them breathed one another in, Aziraphale feeling something primal settle down deep inside as a result of the peaceful feeling of having Crowley back in his arms. 

They kissed for a while, Crowley content to tease at Aziraphale’s collar and curls, stroke down the silk around the back of his waistcoat, and feel just a hint of the strength that lay beneath. Aziraphale was taking his turn to taste Crowley this time, pressing kisses below his ear and nibbling down his jawline, relishing the feel of Crowley’s breath ghosting through his hair or over his cheek. When Crowley managed to nuzzle down into Aziraphale’s neck once again the blond finally pulled away, in fear of losing his head to the sweet sensation of Crowley’s lips brushing and pressing against one of his most sensitive patches of skin. As much as he yearned for the contact, it was decidedly ungentlemanly of him not to offer his guest a welcome beverage before getting so hot and bothered. 

Aziraphale’s lips were dry from their marathon kiss, his eyes half-lidded as he righted his rumpled waistcoat. ‘Ever so sorry, dear boy. I fear that I quite forgot myself in… the moment.’

Crowley longed for him. Aziraphale looked drunk on the feeling of being kissed, and it was beautiful. How Crowley loved being the one to put that dazed look on his face, draw out that dreamy smile. ‘I don’t mind. I want you to forget yourself.’ A pause. ‘And everything else.’ Crowley gave his all-too-familiar smirk and Aziraphale smiled, his flush evident.

Aziraphale could hardly keep his composure. He wasn’t quite used to the way Crowley seemed able to drag his animalistic side to the surface and make him lose his self control: he felt thoroughly seduced. 

_Perhaps it isn’t so bad_ , he thought, as he turned to see Crowley looking at him as if he’d hung the stars. 

None of his previous partners had quite been able to handle everything that Aziraphale was. From the eccentricity of his tartan bow tie, down to the always polished tips of his boots, he had always been, in some way or another, _too much_ . This was decidedly a theme; Aziraphale had always enjoyed affording the same attention to detail to his partner’s pleasure that he did to the pressing of his trousers or his literary analysis. It never took long for him to realise that they found his enjoyment of precision and control somewhat overbearing. Over the years, he’d learned precisely how to hold himself back: stay in the moment, don’t bite, don’t be too... rough. But perhaps, with Crowley, he might be able to let go of his reserved façade a little. _Go wild_. He tucked the thought away for later, lest he drag his new beau into his office and ravage him right there on his desk, not even bothering to close the curtains.

 _Dear God_. He thought to himself. _Don’t be such an animal!_

Instead, he basked in how good it felt to be seen. To wear his bow tie and, rather than be pushed to take it off, receive his own tartan as a gift. To worry his hands at the slightest feeling of panic, and have control handed back to him by a pair of gentle palms encircling his own. To forget himself at the softest kiss placed on his jaw or by his ear, and to be made to feel beautiful for doing so. It was a feeling beyond words: to be seen and to be cherished for all that he was.

As Crowley walked past him and landed a cheeky pat on his arse, Aziraphale had to close his eyes and take a breath, a smile playing at his lips.

‘I brought food. Christmas stuff. Didn’t think you’d have managed to get any on the train.’

Aziraphale led him to the kitchen, full of adoration for how considerate Crowley was. ‘Oh, that’s fantastic! I never get boxing day leftovers anymore!’

The sheer excitement in Aziraphale’s voice made Crowley light up. He pulled containers out, setting them on the counter. ‘Well, this year you do.’

Crowley watched Aziraphale. He observed, rapt, as the man brought out plates, glasses, cutlery. How natural he looked here in his beautiful home. The place was cluttered, but with objects so elegant and beautiful that it could hardly be considered a mess. Old cookbooks lined the countertops, a high-quality bunch of chefs knives sat neatly in their stand and a set of traditional scales glinted as the sun shone in through the window and bounced off the polished brass. Aziraphale shone too. Crowley started to look for something helpful to do and was immediately accosted by his host.

‘Sit down Crowley, please! You must be exhausted from your drive back to Tadfield. Let me do all of this.’

Crowley felt the place enveloping him in Aziraphale as he settled in without question, sitting in a wooden chair and leaning on the table, which was adorned with a tartan cover. 

‘How was your Christmas then, angel? Get anything nice?’

Aziraphale smiled. ‘I got to see my family. They very kindly gave me a specific book that I’ve been hankering after for some time.’ There was a pause as Aziraphale funnelled food into his microwave. He’d had to clear the counter enough to open it first; he hardly ever used the thing, but his friends had insisted upon him having one when they’d been moving him in. As he pressed _start_ and saw the food begin to turn, he really was rather thankful for their insistence. ‘I got a rather lovely gift in the morning.’

Crowley looked up. ‘Oh yeah?’

‘Yes.’ Aziraphale turned to face Crowley. He leant back on the kitchen side, crossing his legs at the ankle and supporting himself by resting his hands on the countertop on either side of his hips. Crowley’s mouth almost watered as Aziraphale fixed him with a knowing gaze, those bright eyes bearing down on him and making him blush.

‘A letter. A rather beautiful letter, hand-delivered.’

‘Oh?’ Was all that Crowley could muster.

‘It was the most wonderful thing that a lonely man could hope to receive from the person he’s become really rather taken with on Christmas Morning.’

Crowley felt his heart skip a beat as Aziraphale turned, extracting their food from the microwave.

Before long the two of them were sat across from one another, Crowley relating tales of his chaotic Christmas day spent with nieces and nephews. They opened a bottle of wine and moved into Aziraphale’s sitting room, which Crowley quickly realised didn’t seem very sat in at all. 

‘Angel, there’s books on every damn surface in this room! Where do you sit?’

Aziraphale blushed. This had always been reserved as a social space, but in the five years he’d been here he could count the number of times he’d used it in such a way on his two hands. ‘I tend to spend most of my time in my office,’ he mumbled. He couldn’t help but be a little worried; what would Crowley think of that? His lack of friends? The last thing he wanted was for the stylish, beautiful man to think he was stuffy and unsociable. He shuffled some piles of books around, putting them on the floor or onto side tables to make room for them to sit.

As he reached up to replace some books that had been taken from a shelf, he felt a pair of hands slink gently around his waist.

Crowley had come to recognise an Aziraphale in distress. He’d come to understand that the man was grounded best through touch, so he approached Aziraphale softly. He adored him, the way his shoulders moved under his layers as he reached up; the way he bit his lip as he looked for the slot that the book should go in; the way he was so obviously holding himself back from pouncing on Crowley out of sheer respect. He could tell from the way Aziraphale looked at him now, since they’d kissed. Both of them had only grown more attached to the other. 

Aziraphale had been something entirely new to Crowley from the moment they had met. Eccentric, hard-working, always treading the line between chaos and firm discipline in every way. Since Crowley had straddled Aziraphale and kissed him on every patch of visible skin he could get to on the night of the party, there was something new in Aziraphale’s eyes: pure, raw hunger. Crowley squirmed delightedly at the thought of it; Aziraphale had experienced five solitary, regimented, _dry_ years; Crowley had been the man to sit atop Aziraphale and feel the weight of his head as he’d accepted Crowley’s ministrations. He’d been the one to kiss the lips that had missed out on much needed attention for so long. He was the one making this gentleman do obscene things, _think_ obscene things. 

_There’s an animal inside of you_ , thought Crowley as he watched the taut flex of Aziraphale’s shirtsleeves when he reached up. _And I want to be devoured_.

He slipped his hands around Aziraphale’s waist, soft. 

‘Stop worrying. You’ve cleared enough room.’ His hands came to rest on Aziraphale’s biceps then, and he felt them tense underneath his fingers.

_He’s holding himself back. I wish he wouldn’t._

Crowley allowed his hands to trace down onto Aziraphale’s forearms, feeling the pure strength that lay beneath the pale cotton.

‘Come and sit down.’

‘But-’

‘No buts.’ Crowley tugged Aziraphale back to the armchair that he’d cleared and, reminiscent of their first intimate moment, gently pushed him back into the seat.

Aziraphale, transfixed, allowed himself to fall.

‘There’s enough room for me right here.’

Aziraphale could only gaze open-mouthed as Crowley took his desired seat in his lap. 

A whisper in his ear: ‘Merry Christmas, Aziraphale.’ A soft bite on his lobe.

The two of them settled in to do some catching up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading. 
> 
> Next chapter will be the last one in this lil' festive story. Perhaps there is more to explore with these two. Let me know what you think.
> 
> @sapphiclemons, thank-you again!


	12. New Year's Eve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here we are. Last chapter.
> 
> It's been such a joy to share this with everyone. I've so enjoyed writing it and everyone has been incredibly kind. I'm overjoyed that people liked it.
> 
> @sapphiclemons has been amazing to work with - they are a wonderful beta and their help has been much appreciated throughout the whole month.
> 
> I hope everyone has a good New Year's - may 2021 bring better times for us all.
> 
> Enjoy - and thanks again for sticking with the story.

New Year’s Eve was always a special day.

It was a day of closure, a day that necessitated a new start in the form of a fresh calendar year. The onset of a new year brought with it the opportunity for a reset. It was exciting, the symbolic chance for people to let go of the worries that they might have dragged along with them through the last twelve months and try doing the things that hadn’t worked in a different way.

Unlike their opposing past experiences when it came to Christmas, Crowley and Aziraphale both shared a love of celebrating New Year’s. They each relished welcoming January 1st with open arms and leaving troubles behind as the world once again careered towards Springtime and brighter days. This year, they planned to spend it together.

The pair had met up every day since Christmas. They’d taken walks through the park, revisiting their snowball fight. Aziraphale had been just as indefatigable during their rematch; this time, when he’d had Crowley pinned down in the snow, they’d not gotten up nearly as quickly. They’d been for those lunches that Aziraphale had promised. Crowley had taken Aziraphale for a beautiful drive up the coast: as they’d stepped out of the car, Aziraphale had gasped as he’d looked out at the miles of clear ocean stretching away from the shore. Crowley, so used to the beauty of the water rippling out towards the horizon, had spent the afternoon basking in the breathtaking beauty of his company instead. 

Oh, how they laughed. Bickered, of course: the entire foundation of their budding relationship was based on flirtatious bickering. It had worked for them so far; there was no reason to stop now.

They had kissed. A fair amount of their time had been spent perfecting that art; learning their respective ways around one another, finding out which patches of skin made the other tingle and what kind of kiss made the other weak at the knees. 

Despite the fact that they were both buttoned up in their coats and scarves, that’s what they were doing right now. The time was five to eight in the evening, and they’d found themselves ready and waiting for their friends to stop by and meet them on the way down to the Tadfield New Year’s Eve celebrations with ten minutes to spare. Crowley had tempted Aziraphale, slipping a hand onto his side as they were chatting and stroking it up and down the soft wool of his beige winter coat. Aziraphale, still not used to being touched in such a way, had quickly caught Crowley in a heated kiss, unable to tame the flames that those gentle, affectionate exchanges set alight within him. 

Crowley was stretched out on the sofa, which had been fully cleared since his first visit, underneath an Aziraphale who was currently snogging him senseless. 

_This is the dream_ , thought Crowley, as he felt a low purr of arousal sound in Aziraphale’s chest. 

Being there underneath that wild-heart man with dazzling eyes and a Greek God nose. Having that mellifluous voice straight into his ear. Feeling Aziraphale’s heartbeat thundering, knowing that every glimpse that he got of the buttoned-up man teetering on the very edge of losing control was solely down to him: the tiniest whimpers, the quickly cut-off moans, the sudden shifting of strong, insistent hips. Crowley was very, very much enjoying it all.

Aziraphale was in the middle of tugging on Crowley’s lush lower lip with his teeth when the knock at the door came. He didn’t want to stop.

‘Aziraphale,’ chuckled Crowley, the word distorted by Aziraphale’s nibbling. ‘Aziraphale!’ He smiled, gently pushing the insatiable man off him. ‘They’re at the door!’ 

Aziraphale tried to lean down again, mumbling an ‘I don’t care’. He had that glazed look in his eyes, the one he got when he was focussed entirely on Crowley. Crowley stroked Aziraphale’s ruffled hair, speaking between small gasps as the man sucked gently below his ear. ‘Az- Aziraphale, we can’t just-’ 

He gasped properly then, as Aziraphale leant close to his ear, speaking low and full of intent. ‘We can do whatever we want.’

Crowley bit his lip. It was taking all of his willpower, but he had to be the one to break them apart. He knew for a fact that Aziraphale was far too much of a hedonist to do so. ‘Angel.’ He ran his fingers into the blonde curls and stilled Aziraphale’s head, catching his attention. ‘We have plenty of time to do whatever we want. You know you want to see the fireworks.’

Aziraphale, feeling the gentle, still press of Crowley’s hands on his collar and his head, took a moment to breathe. His cheeks burned as he gathered his wits. 

_Why do I go to another place whenever I get to be near you?_ He thought to himself. _Pulling myself away is almost impossible_.

‘Of course. Quite right, indeed.’ He got up, fixing his clothes in his usual finicky way. A glance down at Crowley sent a heady rush of blood around his body; the man looked positively debauched, legs parted where Aziraphale had been laying between them and his lovely hair sitting at all angles. There were a couple of fetching pink marks dotted around his neck, and Aziraphale gave a smug little smirk, inordinately proud of himself. 

‘You’re gonna need to button your coat up.’ Said Crowley, clearly amused.

‘Why’s that? Is it cold again?’

‘Probably. But I was more suggesting that you might cover yourself up.’ Crowley placed a gentle kiss on Aziraphale’s cheek as he stood, whispering playfully. ‘Unless you’re currently carrying a pistol in your trousers, it looks as though you’ve just been doing something rather naughty.’

As Aziraphale looked down at himself and cursed, Crowley sauntered away, chuckling. He heard the rustling of Aziraphale’s coat being fastened as he went into the hall.

‘Just one second!’ He called to their friends who were waiting out on the porch.

Once Aziraphale had readied himself, the two of them headed for the door. 

* * *

This was Aziraphale’s fifth New Year’s Eve in Tadfield, so he knew what to expect. He had calmed himself quickly, helped in no small way by the frosty breeze that was whipping down his little coastal lane, chilling the group as they headed up into town towards the hill at Tadfield Edge. 

The Edge was the official name for the perimeter of the town. With the houses and amenities all set in the foothills, Tadfield was surrounded on three sides by hills like the one that the University sat on. The fourth side, of course, was the coast. The small party was heading up a specific hil: the one that sat on the opposite side of town to the University of Tadfield. As much as they loved their undergraduate students, they didn’t much like the idea of being drunk and disorderly around them. They had learnt the risks that such a situation could bring on Aziraphale’s first New Year’s Eve in Tadfield. From the moment he’d first started his job here, he’d been catching the eyes of sprightly students in their early twenties who had a penchant for beautiful, well-spoken men in tailored Victorian clothing. When he’d turned up to meet Tracy and the others and watch the fireworks from the campus, they’d spent the whole night hiding him away from tipsy twenty-somethings who wanted a New Year’s kiss from the good-looking literary expert. Since then, Aziraphale and his friends had collectively decided that the furthest hill from campus was the best way to avoid a repeat. The group would find a spot, set out blankets and camp chairs, and watch the fireworks that would spring into the night sky for miles around when the clock struck midnight. It was a perfect vantage point from which to see not only the Tadfield display, which was always based on the beach, but the answering displays of the surrounding villages. 

Marvelling at the view, Crowley followed Aziraphale, Tracy and the others up the pathway that was carved in a zig-zag up the side of the hill. As they ascended, more and more of the stunning elevated view made itself apparent to Crowley. He was once again struck to his core by the sheer beauty of the place where he now lived, the heart of the town sitting low amongst the rolling hills and twinkling with tiny, flickering lights that reminded him of all the people sitting cosy in their homes, living their lives. Eventually, he was so enraptured by the sight that lay below him that he fell behind the group, taking a moment to survey the details of the landscape. The way that the warm, golden light shining from the houses sat against the cool, silver glimmer of the moonlight on the water that sat in the distance. The tiny ant-like figures that were crowded on the beach, close to roaring fires that had been set early in the evening so that they could build to a good size in time for the celebrations. The peaceful moorlands that bordered the town and the trails of people heading up to the various viewing points that sat dotted around the elevated stretches of land. So much laughter, so much joy. As the locals all paraded in their groups of loved ones to the borders of the town, Tadfield was gradually being enclosed in a huge circle of love, each person connected in some way or another to someone on the next hill, or the beach, or the other side of the town. It was all rather humbling to Crowley, who had always been a big city resident.

Aziraphale quickly realised that Crowley had broken off from the group.

‘You all go on ahead. I’ll wait for him.’ He smiled, and the others headed off to find the prime place to set up for the night. Aziraphale remembered the first time he’d walked up for a big Tadfield New Year’s: it had been awe-inspiring, seeing his new home laid out in front of his eyes like a hand drawn map, or an illustration from a fairytale fiction novel. Crowley deserved his moment to let it all sink in, so Aziraphale hung back for a little while until he saw him stir, looking around. Then, he walked back down the hill towards him.

‘It’s quite something, isn’t it?’ He spoke softly, standing side by side with Crowley.

‘Yes. It’s…’ He trailed off and Aziraphale nodded.

‘There aren’t really the words. It’s rather ineffable, really.’

They spent a moment together, looking out over all that they could see. This tiny place that exuded more magic than it had the right to. The place that brought the two of them together.

‘Thank you for bringing me,’ said Crowley.

Aziraphale turned to him. ‘I’d not have wanted it any other way.’

Together, they carried on up the hill.

* * *

Eventually, they came across the others, sitting in the ideal spot from which to see down to the beach and, by turning about, see inland towards where other parties would undoubtedly be going on. The two of them were swiftly directed towards a tartan blanket that had been laid out for them.

‘Oh, this is lovely! Where is it from, the fabric is so soft!’ Aziraphale fawned as he sat down, ensuring that his feet stayed off the edge.

Tracy smiled. ‘Consider it a late Christmas gift, my love. It’s from a lovely little shop in Buxton, we’ll have to go sometime. You’d love it.’

Aziraphale was touched; he nodded. ‘That sounds lovely.’ He felt indescribably lucky to have found such good friends here.

Crowley wasn’t sure where to sit. He was standing by the blanket, blushing. It wasn’t tiny by any means, but they’d be extremely close together if he parked himself next to Aziraphale. Then, he felt a hand around his own and Aziraphale tugged him down. Not just onto the blanket, but between his legs. 

‘Aziraphale?’ He whispered, unsure whether he’d fallen where Aziraphale had intended.

Leaning forward, Aziraphale spoke softly to him. ‘Look at the others.’

Crowley did. Anathema had her legs crossed over those of Newt, the lab tech who Crowley had recently found out doubled as her boyfriend. Tracy and Shadwell were sitting close in camp chairs, with her leaning against his shoulder. Aziraphale continued.

‘Won’t you sit like this with me? Only if you want to, of course. I’d very much like it if you did. There isn’t any need to be embarrassed-’

Crowley stopped him. ‘I’m not embarrassed.’ He realised suddenly that Aziraphale was blushing fiercely, and he wanted to kiss him. Instead, he settled in his spot between Aziraphale’s strong thighs.

Crowley felt his heart soar as Aziraphale’s arms wrapped around him; he leant back into the warm chest, listening to the beat of his lover’s heart and the rumble that sounded deep inside whenever Aziraphale spoke. It was bliss.

Aziraphale was overjoyed. Crowley was cuddled up to him; he could feel his warmth and cherish the little shifts his body made when he threw his head back to laugh heartily at something that was said. Everyone was sipping from plastic champagne glasses, sharing stories about the year. Somewhere on the hill, another group was playing music through a speaker and Crowley teased Aziraphale for his obvious lack of knowledge relating to chart toppers.

‘You’ve never heard _Boyfriend_? That’s not even a new song Angel, it came out over five years ago!’

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. ‘It’s not exactly a symphony, Dear.’

Crowley raised an eyebrow. ‘Are you being a music snob again?’

This prompted a defensive shrug from Aziraphale. ‘Well, it isn’t exactly moving!’

Shuffling up Aziraphale’s body, Crowley sang along a little. As he sang ‘ _I'd like to be everything you want_ ’ into Aziraphale’s ear, he felt the intended tensing beneath him and smirked. 

‘See. First line and you’re already… moved.’

‘Don’t.’ Hissed Aziraphale, without a hint of malice. Crowley just patted his chest softly, rested back against Aziraphale, and hummed along to himself. ‘Great song,’ he said, fingers playing softly at Aziraphale’s lapel. ‘Give it time. It’ll grow on you.’

Aziraphale could’ve done all manner of things to the wily serpent for his cruel teasing. But, were he honest with himself, he rather liked it. He levelled a look at Crowley, the mischievous glint in his eye clear as day. ‘I’m absolutely sure that it will.’

By the time it was nearing midnight, everyone was suitably tipsy. Aziraphale had settled back on the blanket, looser than usual, and Crowley had followed. There was no mistaking the nature of their relationship for anybody who looked at them, nor did either of them want there to be. 

Tracy smiled as she saw the two of them looking at one another, talking quietly and playfully. She sipped her champagne and then spoke.

‘Well, before the countdown, a couple of words about the year?’

Anathema went first. She was closer to thirty than twenty-five now, and had known everyone here for as long as Aziraphale had. They awaited her wisdom.

‘I completed some big work stuff this year. I got a sweet boyfriend. For the first time, I went where my heart took me instead of where I felt had been set out for me and it was wonderful. I’ll be doing more of the same next year.’ She kissed Newt on the cheek and everyone raised their glasses, giving little _‘hear hears'_ and a _‘good for you’._

Newt was grateful for Anathema. Tracy was grateful for the wonderful little tea shop that had opened in the middle of town. Shadwell was grateful for his first pair of new boots in ten years. 

Everybody turned to Crowley and Aziraphale. Sensing that Crowley was feeling shy, Aziraphale spoke first.

‘I had quite a normal start to the year. Very stable. A lot of my friends have gotten married or had children, bless all of them. It’s been lovely to see them thriving and happy. All of you too, of course.’ Aziraphale looked at Crowley. ‘When I thought things were about to get tough, I met you.’ They shared a moment, Aziraphale didn’t feel the need to expand right then. ‘It’s been a wonderful year, overall. May the next bring nothing but more happiness for us all.’

The glasses lifted again, then all eyes were on Crowley. He was quiet for a moment, but as he felt Aziraphale’s hand rubbing a gentle circle on his back, he relaxed.

‘A lot happened for me this year. Moved out here, didn’t know anyone. Wasn’t sure I’d done the right thing, really.’ He was blushing slightly, but nobody here gave him cause to be embarrassed, so he continued. ‘Met Aziraphale. That cleared up all the worries. Knew I was-’ He rolled his head a little, searching for the word. He looked almost annoyed by his own soppiness, and Aziraphale adored him. ‘Oh, I don’t know. Meant to be here. Meet him.’

Tracy held her hand over her heart as Crowley practically dove under Aziraphale’s jacket to hide. As the others raised their glasses, Aziraphale blinked away the tears in his eyes and held onto Crowley tight. They all drank a sip in the name of things that are meant to be.

The chatter rose again, so Aziraphale took his moment to speak to Crowley.

‘Did you mean that? Did you really,’ he paused, wondering whether he should be asking so plainly. ‘Do you really feel like that?’

Crowley reached up, his hand gentle on Aziraphale’s cheek. ‘I would never have said it if I didn’t.’

Aziraphale closed his eyes and rested into Crowley’s touch, the two of them holding one another up.

‘I couldn’t have done the past month without you, Crowley. Your arrival in my life will always strike me as some sort of miracle.’

‘Don’t be daft.’

‘I’m not being daft at all. I’m being honest. I was so stressed, I was ready to throw in the towel, so to speak. With the project. I was certain that Christmas would be rather upsetting for me this year. That I’d be so lonely. I might’ve been on the cusp of becoming bitter.’ Crowley’s thumb stroked gently against Aziraphale’s smooth, soft cheek as he listened to Aziraphale speak. ‘You changed all of that around. You made the project better, you made it happen. You came with me to places, alleviated all of that loneliness I was so terrified of admitting to feeling.’ 

Aziraphale opened his eyes, hazel irises circling a pair of dilated pupils, looking at Crowley with deep longing and a vulnerability that Aziraphale had rarely shown in his life. ‘You didn’t just give me company. You sparked inside me all of these feelings that I wasn’t sure I’d ever have again. I thought I was becoming something of a husk, never wanting to be close to anyone. Never believing someone might-’ Aziraphale sighed, pained, but he needed to be honest. He wanted to be honest. ‘Might see something in me worth being close to. Might like all of the things I’ve been told are unbearable about me. You- I don’t know how Crowley. But you make all of those worries go away. The way you treat me, it’s like I finally know what it feels like to be-’

He cut himself off, turning his head aside, his cheeks red. Crowley felt the blush spreading under his hand.

_You can’t say that!_ Aziraphale scolded himself. _You can’t put those kinds of words in his mou-_

‘Loved.’ Came Crowley’s whisper, spoken like a prayer, precious and sacred.

Aziraphale looked at him immediately, his eyes widening, eyebrows high. Did he mishear?

‘Is that what you were going to say?’ Asked Crowley, Aziraphale’s silence making him worry.

‘Yes.’

They were so close, Crowley’s head up by Aziraphale’s shoulder. Their hearts thrummed as if they were one, sharing warmth and space and the air that surrounded them.

‘I do. Love you.’

It just slipped out of Crowley’s mouth. So easy, so natural. Like second nature. Just as the two of them had settled into their closeness upon first meeting, just as they had shared their secrets with one another under a sky of palm leaves, just as their lips always slotted together like interlocking pieces of a jigsaw, meant to be together. Crowley had fallen in love, possibly the moment he first laid eyes on Aziraphale, and he wanted him to know.

Aziraphale was stunned. Crowley, as always, had taken his breath away.

_How did I find you? How did you find me? You incredible man, who will say so clearly what I would be terrified of saying. You, who is willing to open the floodgates and allow all of his truth to come crashing through. I can feel your words washing over me like a mile-high wave. Let me meet you in the middle, let me break down the dam I’ve built around my heart. Watch as my love for you comes racing down the hill like an avalanche, and our two rivers meet to form an ocean._

‘I love you too.’

Crowley smiled, and it was the most sensational thing that Aziraphale had ever had the privilege of seeing.

‘Well. Good. I should bloody well hope so, the way you’ve been sticking your tongue in my mouth all week.’

Aziraphale batted him. ‘Be quiet! Fiend.’

‘What’s up Angel? Don’t want people knowing you’re a naughty boy?’

‘Anthony Crowley, I am not afraid to shut you up.’

‘Oh don’t I know it!’ 

They laughed, then. 

_‘Ten! Nine! Eight!’_

‘I love you.’

‘I love you too.’

_‘Three! Two! One!’_

Two pairs of eyes closing with a flutter. One head leaning up, another leaning down. Their fingers intertwined between them, and the brightest, most brilliant fireworks shot into the sky, colourful sparks raining down all around.

Aziraphale and Crowley welcomed in the New Year together, sharing a searing kiss that held the promise of wonderful times to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FIN!
> 
> Thank you so much again for reading. 
> 
> On the last chapter, there was positive feedback at the mention of a continuation of this story. I'm thrilled people feel that way, and it is definitely something I'd like to do. It may be NSFW - thoughts on this would be appreciated!
> 
> There are also a couple of other things I have in the works, so I do plan to be back soon enough. I am juggling with some other deadlines so it may not be immediate, but it is certainly my intention. There will be a new work up for the Good Snowmens Exchange between now and the 10th, if anybody is interested.
> 
> So, with that said, I hope we will all meet again in the near future. One last thank you - you've all helped to make the writing of my first multi-chapter story incredibly fun. Stay safe, and have a wonderful start to the New Year.


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